Soulless
by trashyfiction
Summary: Buffy's dead inside, Spike just wants her to feel alive.  How far will he go to bring her back to herself? Alternate season 6, follows canon until just after Spike and Buffy begin sleeping together.  Explores the concept of having or not having a soul.
1. Chapter 1

_Note: Alternate season six. Takes place just after "gone" and then goes off canon completely. The events of _Tabula Rasa_ never happened, so Giles is still around and Tara and Willow are still together, although shakily. **Warning**: this started out as a smutty one shot, which then unexpectedly grew a plot. If you are offended by smut, don't bother reading _

_Disclaimer: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, I just borrow them for fun._

_This is my first fic, and as of yet I have no Beta, anyone interested in betaing for me, I would be delighted to have your help! _

Chapter One

He could see it in her eyes. A kind of pacing, like his demon, but colder, bitter. She'd laugh and they couldn't tell it was flat. She'd speak and they couldn't hear the hollowness. He smelled her horror at herself; surrounded by the people who loved her most and all she could feel was repulsion and betrayal. It was a petty, vehement resentment that she hid just beneath the surface, hating herself for harboring it. But Spike saw it, and he saw she needed to feel something else, something intense and reckless and cathartic so she could maybe wake the bloody hell up. Hated seeing his Slayer looking dead inside. More than dead enough for the both of them, he was.

That night Spike slipped away from the living room, leaving the Scoobies to trade quips and pour over the books, and sauntered over to Buffy as she approached the bathroom door.

"Looks like that lot's gonna be at it for a while, eh pet?" He said from behind her, leaning down to speak near her ear.

Buffy whirled to face him, "Yeah, and I should really get with the researching myself, you know, demons to kill and all," she spoke with feigned enthusiasm and started to duck away.

Spike caught her arm and leaned closer, purring, "Sure you don't want a study break, love? You seem awfully tense; I could help with that, you know…"

"No, Spike! Could you pick a worse time? Even Giles is here!"

"Oh come on, love, we both know that's your favorite part," he nibbled her neck right below her earlobe and pulled her against him, "The thrill of gettin' caught. Knowin' Mr. Father Figure in there would never understand how his good little slayer got a bit of Big Bad in her." He smirked, "More than a bit, actually."

Buffy tried to summon up a witty response, or even a feeble protest, but as Spike's body pressed against hers and his tongue trailed lightly down her neck, all will to object drained out of her. She lifted her hands to his waist, slipping them under his t-shirt and resting them on the taut skin of his hips. Spike's teeth, still blunted, nipped her shoulder, sending a little shock of heat through her, and reawakening her will. Buffy dug her fingernails into his hips and pushed him towards the bathroom door, opening it with one hand and roughly shoving him through.

"That's it, Slayer, get angry!" he growled, pushing her back, closing the door, and slamming her up against it in one fluid motion. She snaked her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down, mashing her lips against his. Spike let out a tiny moan and pressed against her harder, feeling the heat of her body make his go rigid. He placed his hands under her buttocks, giving her the support she needed to lift her legs and wrap them around his waist. Buffy threw her head back, arching against his chest, as she felt his hard member press against her through his jeans. She bucked her hips, grinding into the bulge of his cock, loving that every nerve ending seemed to scream with the need to touch him, inhale his Spike-y scent, take him inside her. He pulled away from her lips to lick her neck, collar bone, pushing aside her shirt and moving down to the swell of her breast. Her hands slid up his shirt and she raked her nails down his back, her attention narrowing to a pinpoint. All she knew was the hardness of his body pressing her into the door, the softness of his mouth closing around her left nipple and the sharpness of his teeth that sent a little moaning scream to escape her lips.

"Hush now, you wouldn't want your mates in there catchin' wise and interrupting us, now would you, pet? Not when you're just starting to get worked up," He slid one hand up her inner thigh, under her already-pushed-up skirt, and caressed her pussy through the damp fabric of her panties. He took her breasts into his mouth one by one and rubbed her clit in circles; the feel of her slick heat burning his fingers and feeding his lust. "Stand down, love," he murmured into her chest, disentangling her legs from around his waist, "I want to taste you."

She shuddered, torn between fear and a treacherous thrill of desire, sure for a moment that he was asking to bite her. Damn him, stupid vampire. Maybe there was something to his infuriating accusation that she was in love with death. But instead of going for her neck he moved downwards, his hands and mouth roaming freely, pushing clothing aside and sucking and nipping at her flesh hungrily. His long fingers slipped up her thighs and hooked into the hem of her panties, pulling them down hurriedly. Once she was bare, his pace changed. Spike knelt before her and sighed a little after inhaling deeply. She smelled intoxicating, nothing fainting or blushing about it; she was pure Buffy, all woman, pungent, musky, and just a little bit sweet. And bloody hell, he loved her 'til it drove him mad.

He nuzzled her inner thighs and teased her with kisses, continually approaching but not quite reaching the warm lips where her legs met.

"Spike…" her voice was soft, supplicating.

"What is it, pet? Mmm?" He spoke huskily and punctuated his words by licking slowly along the curve where her thigh met the outer fold of her pussy. She squirmed, seeking more intimate contact. "You want something? Want me to do something to you?"

She let out a stifled moan and put her hands on the back of his head, trying to force his mouth to her, but he stubbornly, tantalizingly, resisted. "Say it, slayer! Tell me you want me to lick your dripping cunt!"

She bit her lip and fought the urge to beg. She would not stroke the fiend's ego, damnit. It was bad enough she was doing this in the first place, and in her own house no less, with the whole gang in the next room. Spike rubbed the side of his face against her thigh, his lips centimeters from her sex, breath softly caressing her where she ached to be touched. He pressed his lips to the flesh of her thigh and slid his tongue over her skin before biting down hard, almost, but not quite drawing blood. She gasped, the desire pumping through her veins finally trumping her pride. "Fine, stubborn vampire!" She hissed, "I want you, ok? I want you to eat me 'til I come, then I want you inside me, deep and hard!"

With a growl Spike buried his face in her pussy, sucking each lip separately before swirling his tongue around her swollen clit. Buffy quickly stuffed her arm into her mouth and bit down to keep from moaning loudly. Spike's tongue flicked back and forth, teasing her relentlessly and causing her pleasure to steadily build. She moved her hips rhythmically, pressing her pussy into his face as he sucked on her clit. Just as she felt herself reaching an aching plateau, Spike slipped two fingers deep inside her and began to hook them upwards into her sweet spot. Buffy bucked a few times before the combination of his fingers inside and his tongue wickedly lapping her clit sent her over the edge. Her spine arched taut and her legs fastened around his head as she convulsed in orgasm, moaning deeply into her arm.

"Mmm, that's it love," Spike continued to slowly run his tongue over the full length of her pussy, savoring her juices. She shuddered, still super sensitive from her climax, and pulled him up to the level of her face, kissing him passionately. Breaking the kiss, she whispered in his ear, "Remember that other thing I wanted you to do?"

"Naughty girl," he murmured, his lips brushing her neck. She shifted, lying on the bathroom floor, and reached down where he strained against his black jeans. He groaned and pressed into her hand as she stroked him and then unzipped and pushed his pants down around his thighs. His hard length sprung free and brushed against the wet folds of her pussy. Spike guided himself to her opening and settled his gaze on hers, his lips parted, his cool, habitual breath coming heavily. He slid into her and they both gasped.

Outside the window stood a lithe figure in a clinging black dress with snug lace sleeves. She peered in, hands cupped around her eyes and lips tweaked in a voyeuristic half smile. "Oo, Willie's been a bad dog!" she cooed, "Nasty boy! Plowin' in fields of flowers. Stinkin', sweet, Slayer flowers… But no need to fret! Mummy's taken care of it. Will dear, reformed, Spike still want to be dippin' 'is prick in that little honeypot once she's just like the rest of us?" Thin, pale fingers slipped down into a velvet bag hanging at her hips, caressing a hollow glass sphere the size of a grapefruit. The figure giggled and sashayed away, "Not long now, dirty girl, and you'll be pure like Mummy! It's important for poor little lost Spike be with family…"

Buffy linked her ankles around his back, pushing him in deeper, and bit her lip to keep from groaning. Spike hooked his arms under hers and grabbed onto her shoulders, his mouth clinging to her neck, and his eyes squeezed shut with pleasure. They moved in unison, rocking into each other, lost in the blissful forgetting of everything outside themselves. There was no shame, no good, evil. No loneliness. No hiding. There were just Buffy and Spike, and he was there with her, filling her, holding her, knowing her.

Spike began to thrust faster, breathlessly pressing his mouth to hers. She was so bloody warm, and his cock slid so easily in and out of her tight, wet pussy. He shifted to flip them over, and Buffy rode on top, moving deliciously up and down. Spike placed his hand on his lower stomach, just where her clit rubbed each time she grinded into him. The simultaneous pounding of his cock inside her and his hand rubbing her clit sent her pleasure rising to climax. She desperately rocked harder and shoved her arm into her mouth again, to keep from moaning in ecstasy as she came. Spike felt her muscled walls contract in orgasm, milking his cock and sending an aching wave of pleasure through him. He shuddered and came, his seed shooting deep inside her and his lower lip clamped tightly between his teeth to stifle a deep groan.

Buffy collapsed onto his chest, absently kissing his neck, his lips, then laying her head on his shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something to the effect of, he couldn't feel his toes and it was her bloody fault, not that he minded, but a knock came at the door.

"Hey Buffy, are you ok in there? Were you gonna head back to the demony research party? 'Cause if you want to just go to sleep, that's fine too, I mean, we can make with the leaving and giving Buffy space thing, if you want." Willow's well-meaning ramble came through the door.

Buffy froze rigid for a second before replying hurriedly, "Be right out! Just, um, having a little girl trouble!"

"Oh, ok," Willow's footsteps faded away from the door.

"Spike, quick!" Buffy whispered harshly, "Get dressed and go out the window."

They sat up and hastily adjusted and pulled on their clothes. Spike pressed his lips to hers for a quick kiss, then opened the window and slipped out into the night. Buffy mentally prepared herself, smoothed down her hair, and left the bathroom to rejoin the others. Willow, Tara, Xander, Giles, Dawn, and Anya all sat in the living room, surrounded by books of differing sizes and ages.

"Ok, I get the whole being prepared and knowledge is power thing, but seriously guys, let's give it a break already! I feel like I'm studying for demon jeopardy!" Xander complained loudly.

"As much as it pains me to say it, Xander might be right. It is getting rather late, maybe we ought to call it an evening."

Everyone was nodding in agreement to Giles' suggestion when the front door flew open and Spike strode into the living room. His hair was mussed, and he absently held an unlit cigarette between his fingers. "Forget the sodding research on your run of the mill workin' joe demons. Big bad's back in town, and for some bloody infuriating reason, I'm not it. Again."

"You mind running that by us again, bleach boy? You know, maybe with some actual information this time." Xander spoke with the usual half-mocking, half-challenging tone he always reserved for the blond vampire.

Spike sighed and let the bravado slip out of his voice, "It's Dru. I slipped out for a smoke and I smelt her bloody everywhere. She's been watching the house."

Buffy was all business, thoughts of what they'd been doing in the bathroom not five minutes before temporarily out of mind, "When? When was she here?"

"Tonight."


	2. Chapter 2

_Note: Alternate season six. Takes place just after "gone" and then goes off canon completely. The events of _Tabula Rasa_ never happened, so Giles is still around and Tara and Willow are still together, although shakily. **Warning**: this started out as a smutty one shot, which then unexpectedly grew a plot. If you are offended by smut, don't bother reading_

_Disclaimer: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, I just borrow them for fun._

_This is my first fic, and as of yet I have no Beta, anyone interested in betaing for me, I would be delighted to have your help! When it comes to update schedules, for the first several chapters of the fic, which I already have written, I'll be posting on a weekly basis. Once I catch up, I'll probably slow down to once a month; I will keep posting though, so stick with me!_

Chapter 2

After everyone had finally left or retired to their rooms, Buffy sat on her bed and stared at the monotonous wobbling of the fan, the flickering shadows it cast over the imperfections in the plaster ceiling. Drusilla was back. That should be positive; a bat-shit crazy villainess was exactly the good, healthy focus she needed to get her head back in the game and kick the apathy habit. And it would probably get Spike off her back….and other parts of her. Spike had always loved Dru. With her back in town maybe he'd finally give up his masochistic 'dance' with Buffy. Right. Drusilla's arrival should have been perfect; it meant a tangible nemesis to focus on, and an end to the perverse degradation that was this, this _thing _she kept doing with Spike.

So, the knotty feeling in the pit of her stomach had to be the result of one too many nights of pizza and Chinese take-out in a row. There's no way it could have anything to do with Spike. There would be no Spike-feelings in her belly, especially not of the jealousy and/or lusty kind. Definitely not.

As soon as Spike left the Summers' house he began walking in the direction of his crypt. When he was sure all the Scoobies had gone safely on their ways he doubled back and found the spot outside the bathroom window where Dru had stood, watching them. Watching him make love to Buffy.

Her scent seemed to pool in the grass, like old velvet and the inside of dried up perfume bottles. That smell used to be enough to spur him to destroy cities, and to remind him of the tenderness that was once his only nature. It had engulfed him when he'd nursed her through her weakness, and when he'd licked the blood off her lips when she was strong. He'd clung to her with all the loyalty of a kicked dog through everything; even when she was fawning and on her knees for that bastard Angelus; bloody hell, even in Brazil when she was shagging everything with slime and a rack of antlers. Now, it just curled in his nostrils and made him worry. He shrugged his shoulders deeper into his duster and turned to follow the trail.

Not unexpectedly, it led him to a smallish abandoned warehouse. Street lamps cast murky squares of light through the broken windows, throwing an angular, distorted grid across the cracked cement floor. Drusilla had draped a loading platform with Persian rugs and set up her array of worn Victorian furniture. She lounged on a faded burgundy day bed, smile glinting in the watery light. "My sweet William has found me! Makes a girl's heart go pitter-patter, devotion like that. Do you make your slayer's heart go pitter-patter?"

Spike stepped out of the shadows and started towards the make-shift dais, "Not your business, Dru." He kept his tone carefully light, hiding the warning.

"Cruel boy! Your words cut like a hundred little knives, and not in the way I like."

"What are you doin' here, back in Sunnydale?" He asked, ignoring her rebuke and joining her on the platform.

"Not pleased to see me, then." She pouted.

"Cut the act Dru, yeah? Or did you forget the last time I saw you I was gonna kill you for her. Don't think I won't do it now. If you hurt her—" He caught his anger and took an unnecessary breath, "Just bloody tell me why you're back in Sunnydale!"

"Hold your tongue! Nasty boy," She looked down and twirled a lock of her hair between her fingers, "I've made a friend," she grinned up at him from the day bed.

"A friend? God damn it woman, I've never known what you get on about, not after a hundred years." Spike shook his head, exasperated.

"The friend? That'd be me." A tall man with a handsomely lined face, faded blue jeans, and worn cowboy boots approached from the rear door of the warehouse.

"Oh and who are you, the sodding Marlboro Man? Really, Dru? You should've stuck with the chaos demon."

"I may've been a cowboy, son, but that's not all I was." His forehead shifted and he lifted his right arm, a bolt of magenta energy shooting from his palm and slamming Spike across the room.

Drusilla squealed, "Ooh, you'll make Spike cross! Rrrf, rrrf! Fight the bad dog, Aaron."

Spike picked himself up from the pile of crates he'd landed in and shook on his game face. "Ok man, you're gettin' really irritatin'" He ran, lunging at the grinning sorcerer and punched him in the jaw, knocking him back. Spike advanced without hesitation and landed another heavy punch. Aaron stumbled and laughed, blood showing in his teeth, "You got spunk, boy! Maybe I should let you carry on for a while, see what else you got?"

Spike snarled and kicked him in the chest, sending him to the floor. He was on the sorcerer in a split second, pinning him to the ground and roughly grabbing the front of his shirt. "Let's skip the cheesy villain banter and get right to the part where you tell me what you're doin' in Sunny D sniffin' around the Slayer, yeah?"

Aaron grinned smugly, "ok by me."

Spike flew back and was yanked to a halt in midair by cuffs of deep pink energy burning into his wrists and ankles. Aaron got up slowly and dusted himself off, slipping back into his human face and carefully adjusting his jaw with one hand. He walked over to where Spike hung, the cuffs pulling his body into the shape of an X. "You're a queer kind of vampire, son. Trying to woo the Slayer when the rest of us are so bent on killing her. But I have to say, I like you're originality, and I've got a mind to help."

Spike smirked, "Don't need your help, MckLintock. As Dru the peepin' tom over there can tell you, I'm doin' pretty well by m'self."

"Oh sure, we can all smell ya, and you reek of sex. Congratulations, big man, you fucked 'er. But how's the rest of it going? She love you yet?" Spike glared, and the other vampire laughed, pacing leisurely around him. "I reckon, and you let me know if ya think I got it wrong, but I reckon she won't ever love you, on account of her having a soul and you, well, no need to be bashful. None of us here miss our souls, do we, sweetheart?"

"Rotting, impure things, took Daddy from us. And now my Spike's gettin' drunk off hers…" Drusilla sent Spike a forlorn look.

"Just the point I wanted to make, sweet pea, and it brings me to our boy Spike's original question: why we're here." Aaron turned back to appraise Spike; then continued his circular stroll. "You see, a slayer's not actually all that different from us vampires. I was a sorcerer even before I was sired, and I've picked up some odds 'n' ends since the good ole days of manifest destiny. And do you know where a slayer gets her power? All that strength, speed; being able to get up and walk away from just about anything that doesn't kill her outright, and some of what does." He paused in his pacing and fixed the blond vampire with a look, "It's demon power, son, just like ours. Exactly like ours. Only two differences: a slayer's alive, and she's got a soul. 'Cept for Buffy it's only the one difference, innit? Seeing as how she's already sorta dead."

Until this point Spike had stayed quiet, biting back his anger as Mr. John Wayne-wannabe circled him like a self-satisfied shark. But recognizing the argument he'd used to get under Buffy's skin for weeks echoed in the words of this stupid, arrogant prick broke the feeble limits of his patience. He lunged as much as he could, straining against the searing shackles, "She ain't dead! And she's damn well not a _bloody thing_ like any of _us_!" Spike growled.

Aaron chuckled calmly, like a teacher conceding to a student's slightly misguided but amusing point, "Well, maybe not yet," he grinned, "but she will be. Come over here Drusilla, and bring the Muo-Ping."

Drusilla swayed over to the other two vampires and lifted the glass sphere from the bag at her hip, handing it to Aaron. "Don't fret dear Spike, now you'll be able to see again, without the Slayer's soul muddying your pretty eyes."

"What're you—" Spike started, but the sorcerer cut him off.

"Now, Drusilla!"

She put her hands on either side of Spike's face and pulled his head down, pressing her mouth to his. Her tongue darted out, pushing apart his lips, and giving his mouth a probe before she inhaled and pulled back, breaking the kiss. She turned and took the small globe from the sorcerer and with a sly smile, brought it to her lips. A pale blue glow slipped from them and lit the sphere briefly, before fading away.

"Not sure why it works really, but it's kinda poetic, innit? A kiss stolen from the last person who was intimate with the Slayer binds her soul to the Muo-Ping. Now it's just a simple ritual to suck it out of her and trap it in here. It would be harder to do with any other Slayer, but Buffy's soul has already been knocked a bit loose by coming back from the dead a second time, so one good yank oughta do the trick."

A choked scream sounded from Buffy's room, waking Dawn and the witches. Dawn was on her feet fastest, and she slammed open Buffy's door in time to see her sister kneeling on the floor beside the bed. Her back was arched, her body cruelly contorted, and a blinding white light streamed from her eyes, mouth, and chest. Willow and Tara arrived just as the light went dark and Buffy slumped back down, head lolling between her knees. Dawn rushed to her side and carefully reached out to touch her shoulder. "Buffy…are you ok?"

There was a pause, and everyone held their breath, but then Buffy spoke, her voice a little weak at first. "Yeah, I feel…" She sat up slowly and lifted her head, "I feel great!"


	3. Chapter 3

_Note: Alternate season six. Takes place just after "gone" and then goes off canon completely. The events of _Tabula Rasa_ never happened, so Giles is still around and Tara and Willow are still together, although shakily. **Warning**: this started out as a smutty one shot, which then unexpectedly grew a plot. If you are offended by smut, don't bother reading_

_Disclaimer: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, I just borrow them for fun._

_This is my first fic, and as of yet I have no Beta, anyone interested in betaing for me, I would be delighted to have your help! And thank you everyone for the lovely reviews! Both me and my ego appreciate them very much! _

Chapter 3

"Buffy— what happened?" Willow spoke quietly, the concern clear in her voice.

Buffy laughed softly to herself, but with real amusement. "Oh, wow. Angel! I so should have fucked him again!" That thought sent her into giggles again.

This time Willow was firm and looked directly into her best friend's eyes. "Tell us what happened, Buffy. And what does Angel have to do with it?" Willow prayed Buffy wouldn't confirm her intuition; there was only one thing she could think of related to sleeping with Angel, and that was soul-losing.

The Slayer looked earnestly at her friends. "For the first time since I was brought back _here_, I feel right. Like the dead pieces that have been rotting away inside are finally gone. And it feels fantastic!

"This is good, right? I mean, it has to be good," Dawn looked around the room hopefully at her sister and the witches, "Buffy's really back now!"

"That's sweet Dawnie, always sticking up for big sis," Buffy gave the beaming Dawn a sweet smile before continuing. "And you must feel so _justified_ since you didn't rip me from heaven like the others. But did you ever stop to think, Dawnie, that the way you follow me around like an adoring little puppy is worse? That every time you look at me like your super hero big sister who'll make everything right, you're just begging to be kicked!"

Dawn recoiled as if her sister had actually kicked her, "I never—"

Willow cut her off, her face pained as she spoke, "It's not her, Dawn. The real Buffy would never say that. I think she's… I think somehow, something made her lose her soul."

"Oo! Points for the witch! You always were the smart one, though not much for problem solving. Hey! Wanna give it a go screwing this one up with magic too? It'll be hard to top tearing your best friend from eternal happiness. But I believe in you. You know, on second thought, I'm kinda liking how this one turned out; let's not mess with it." Buffy's voice dripped with a venomous, mocking glee.

Willow´s lips tightened in a firm line and her eyes took on their signature look of silent resolve. Buffy stood up and began to move around the room, picking up knick knacks and photos and turning them over in her hands in absent contemplation as she spoke.

"You know, until now I never really got why Angelus turned into creep-fest psychological torture boy over all of us. Well, over me, mostly. Now it's obvious. That whole fortune cookie 'love sets you free' thing is so bullshit. It's the people you love, the people who love you, that really screw with your head and lock you up. God! Do you know what torture it was having to be with you guys all the time and pretend everything was ok? Just plaster on my happy-Buffy face and act like I didn't resent you for what you did? How many times did I have to save your asses and avert the damn apocalypse before you'd finally let me stop babysitting? Even before dying the second time it was painful watching you losers struggle to keep up as my sidekicks. And after, well," she laughed bitterly, "All those concerned looks, all of you expecting me to be the perfect, loving, good Buffy, always so forgiving."

Buffy stopped her circling and sat on the bed, leaning back on her hands and looking at her friends. She laughed, this time with obvious pleasure. "You wanna know what you drove me to? The only reason I could stand it? It was Spike." She smirked, "or more specifically, it was fucking Spike. Mmm, the satisfaction I got riding him and thinking just how betrayed each one of you would feel if you knew. 'Oh! But Buffy would never do that! Buffy's good! She's only making with the badness now because her soul's gone!'" She mimicked. "Sorry to disappoint kids, I've been up close and personal with the Big Bad since way before the whole losing of the soul thing. And boy, do I mean _Big _Bad." She licked her lips, remembering.

"If only Xander were here, he'd go all horror-icky face if he knew he'd actually watched me and Spike doing the nasty. Remember the whole invisi-Buffy incident? That was kinky. I could see right through me to his—" she caught herself with a wicked grin, "oops, better keep this pg-13 for Dawn's sweet, virginal ears. Oh, but first, one more, this is my favorite! Remember this evening, Will? When I was in the bathroom and told you I had girl trouble? Spike was still inside me when I said that. Gave me these yummy little chills, thinking of you on the other side of the door, so close to my betrayal."

Willow, Tara and Dawn remained in horrified silence during Buffy's monologue. Now, in the pause, Tara took the opportunity to speak, only addressing Willow and Dawn. "Come on, she's just being hurtful. We should go."

"Oh no, stay, I insist. I'm actually on my way out; I've got this sudden urge to patrol, you know, kick some bad guy ass like a good little Slayer." She laughed with a wink and strolled out the door, calling over her shoulder, "Oh, and if you try the Scooby thing on me, you better hope you don't fuck it up. Because I will kill you. Slowly."

* * *

><p>Spike's arms ached from supporting his full weight as he hung from the crackling cuffs. Drusilla and her arrogant ponce of an accomplice had left a while ago to check on their handy work, and Spike was left alone to worry and fume himself into a snit. Good god, do all us villain types sound that bloody smug when we explain our plots? It had always seemed so glorious and dramatic, but if he'd sounded anything like that tremendous twat he might as well join the sodding white hats for good.<p>

Without wanting to, he thought of Buffy. Would she even have survived? Chosen one and all, she was still human. You can't just rip the soul out of a human and expect her to get up and dance around the place like nothing was wrong. But, what if she did? The thought squirmed its unwelcome way into his consciousness. What if she got up without a soul, like him, and felt free? Not torn up inside with guilt over her damned ungrateful friends and not being able to live up to their bleedin' expectations. What if she got up and wasn't ashamed of him? She…maybe they could…could she love him?

Before he could go further down that train of thought, and before he broke his mental discipline and began to agonize over the less optimistic outcomes of Buffy losing her soul, he heard a loud crash and then a thud. An athletic form smashed through the window and flipped onto booted feet. "You know, I'm really starting to get why you baddies are so big into making an entrance. That was fun!"

"Buffy? Are you ok? Did Dru and her idiotic cowboy get to you?"

"Must've missed me. But it looks like they got you. And come again? Cowboy?"

Spike groaned, "Don't ask, just find a way to get me down from here. I'll explain later."

"I dunno, I kinda like you up there. All bondage-y." Buffy sauntered languidly over to where he hung just above the ground and trailed her finger down his chest to his navel, nail tugging at the fabric of his shirt. "I'm realizing that I haven't been taking full advantage of our extracurricular relationship, what with all the guilt, and the denial being such an issue. Now, not so much." She methodically ripped open his t-shirt at the front and sleeves so that it slipped off him, leaving him bare under his duster, and ran her hands over the tight muscles of his chest. Spike opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a sharp exhale as Buffy tweaked his left nipple between her thumb and forefinger. "Oo, I like this, pulling your strings for a change!" She stepped closer and slipped her arms around him, pressing her mouth to his chest in violent little kisses. He moaned as she let her hands trail down to squeeze the swell in his jeans. He steeled himself against her ministrations enough to speak, "So, their scheme worked? Soul's gone?" He asked apprehensively, not sure what answer he hoped for.

"Totally gone, along with all those pesky little excuses not to completely savor the tasty hunk of vampire dangling right in front of me." Before he could think about what that meant, Buffy had unzipped his jeans and ripped them at the seam, pulling out his stiff member. She wrapped her hand tightly around its base and bent over at the waist, "See, would I have done this with a soul?" She ran her tongue up the vein on the underside of his shaft, giving a lingering swirl when she reached the head.

He groaned, "You did, once."

"I was invisible, almost like not having a soul. Now, if you want me to do it again, you better shush."

Spike shushed. He shushed as her wicked little mouth closed over his cock, enveloping him in wet heat and making him grateful he didn't have to stand, because he probably couldn't have. And he shushed as her hands, lips, and tongue worked him until he teetered on the brink, pleasure burning him like fire and silencing all conscious thought. But when it was too much and he came, shuddering in her mouth, he couldn't keep quiet and gasped, "God, Buffy! I love you!"

She swallowed, then straightened up, looking at him quizzically. "You know, you don't have to say that anymore. I'm soulless evil girl now, the romance shtick's not exactly necessary to get into my pants. Especially not if you're inclined to be all S and M-y again." She gave the restrained vampire an appraising look.

Spike's brows knit together and he looked as if he'd been slapped. "Not why I said it. I'm in love with you Buffy; you should know that, after everything. After this summer, with Niblet."

"Oh, right, you 'saved me every night.'" Buffy rolled her eyes. "How did you put up with that hormonal little brat all summer? I lasted maybe half an hour after the losing of the soul, and then I had to split. Any more than that and my threats to kill them all would have been less threatening and more doing."

"You would have killed _Dawn_?"

"Hello, evil now, remember? Haven't you, like, been through this before? I thought turning on loved ones was pretty standard soul-lacking demony behavior."

"But, your little sis…She's everything to you." Spike's usually silver tongue failed him. He couldn't comprehend a Buffy who wouldn't give anything and everything to protect her sister; hell, she had died to save the little Bit, and it had bloody near killed him, but it was why he loved her. She was full of love and death was her gift.

Buffy pulled a face. "You know, for a soulless bloodsucking fiend, you've gotten pretty squeamish. I think maybe you've had that chip too long. And duh, Dawn _was_ everything to me. That's a big part of why I'm so sick of her now. When I had my soul it was all about her, and the Scoobies, and all the innocent little civilians; I had super powers for _six years_ and it _sucked_. All I did was listen to their whining, save their asses, torture and deny myself to be what _they_ needed. Now I'm finally free; so hell yeah I'm going to do all the things I wouldn't let myself then, starting with leaving them behind."

As Buffy spoke something clicked in Spike's brain and he laughed, "You know Summers, I would've expected a bit more spark from you. A grand apocalypse or take over the world scheme maybe. But here you are, actin' like some fresh from the earth, run of the mill, stake-fodder vamp. All you can do is the exact opposite of what you would've with a soul. It's so bloody reactionary. And don't kid yourself, love; you're still just as tied up as you were before."

"Am not! I'm evil now; I can do anything I want!" She retorted vehemently.

"Yeah, you can, pet. But you're not gonna. You'll spend the rest of your life contradicting your missin' soul, acting out all the little nasties that would've set your stomach crawling before. You think you're free of it, but it's still runnin' you. And you know what?"

Buffy scowled at him, "there aren't words for how wrong you are, vampire. But fine, what?"

Spike grinned and his tongue curled behind his teeth, "you were right. I don't love you. Heh, not like this at least. I love you with a soul, Buffy, without one you're actually kind of pathetic. And not nearly as strong as you thought."

"Well see, this just proves you wrong. There is something my ensouled self and I can agree on: hating you! Do all vampires have to go to annoying school before getting to meet the Slayer, or is it a natural talent?" She fumed.

"Sticks and stones, pet. But my words seem to 'ave hurt you." His tone turned mocking, "Did big bad Buffy want a pep talk? A devoted partner in crime? Or maybe just a little cold comfort from the dead man, to get her through a rough transitional period?"

"Bite me." Her voice was full of cool rage and she punctuated her thought by smashing her fist into Spike's face.

His head snapped back and shifted to his demon features, but he raised it immediately, grin alive and eyes dancing with the pain. "Love to, Goldilocks. Come a little closer, give us a taste!"

She hit him again, breaking his nose, and stormed out of the warehouse. Spike glanced down at his bare chest and his flaccid cock dangling out of his ruined jeans. He sighed, "Sod it. Should've at least asked her to tuck me in."


	4. Chapter 4

_Note: Alternate season six. Takes place just after "gone" and then goes off canon completely. The events of _Tabula Rasa_never happened, so Giles is still around and Tara and Willow are still together, although shakily.__**Warning**__: this started out as a smutty one shot, which then unexpectedly grew a plot. If you are offended by smut, don't bother reading_

_Disclaimer: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, I just borrow them for fun. This chapter includes dialogue from _Lies My Parents Told Me_ by David Fury and Drew Goddard._

_This is my first fic, and as of yet I have no Beta, anyone interested in betaing for me, I would be delighted to have your help! When it comes to update schedules, for the first several chapters of the fic, which I already have written, I'll be posting on a weekly basis. Once I catch up, I'll probably slow down to once a month; I will keep posting though, so stick with me! Thanks to everyone for the lovely reviews, they help keep me writing! _

Chapter 4

Dawn, Tara and Willow sat in stunned silence for an endlessly long ten minutes, each lost in her own struggle to make sense of what a soulless Buffy could mean. Willow spoke first, her voice detached, "We need to tell Giles. Call a Scooby meeting." The other two nodded wordlessly and they all trooped downstairs to the kitchen while Willow phoned the Watcher.

"Giles? Yes, it's me. We need to have a Scooby meeting. Now. This," she took a deep breath, "it's big this time."

In twenty minutes the whole gang had congregated at the Magic Box, a hush hanging over the room as Willow briefly explained the situation. Xander ran his hand through his hair distractedly, "I don't get it. Buffy was always why we won. She always found a way. What're we supposed to do now that she's gone all Angelus on us?"

"What we always do," Giles said after a long silence. "I admit, this is a blow; Buffy has always been our leader and our best weapon. But we must remember that we've had just as important a part in pulling her through on many occasions. We are a team, and we can still function as one, even without our captain." He forced a tone of optimism into his voice that he didn't quite feel.

"I'll get the books." Tara stood and began pulling volumes off the shelves, picking off specific ones from different sections and setting them on the table. They all got to work, settling into research mode more quietly, with less banter than usual. Xander and Anya took the demon books, searching for anything that could eat or steal souls. Willow, Tara, and Dawn took the spell books, and Giles threw himself into the prophecies. After a bit over an hour he began to polish his glasses and mutter to himself. "It can't be related. It would be absurd." But he had to check. He fished a slim paperback from the pocket of the jacket he´d draped over his chair. The cover was a pale blue and read in simple, dark orange type "The Diary of Don Finch." He flipped to a page about two thirds through the book and stared at the rambling block of text:

_Fifteen of ale, unhappy interruption- Mrs. Connor's runny stew smells better on its way out than in, that nectar of Lethe cheap whiskey in 3 fingered doses. And I'm here again blasted hole walls like dried piss. Forgive me father, I'm consorting with my demons again. Ha! Alright alright. Damned girl one in the world all that rot won't stay dead this one. All knocked to pieces. Bits fall out. Mrs. Connor's all one great piece hardly moves, the sow. Smells it on my breath, well I smell her like cabbage sweating from the damned pissy walls. Damned important bits leave her just like the bloody dead angel what ruined her. Got to paste her back together that one bitch without her sparky bits'll send us all back to pissy walls 3 fingered gulps suffocating in Mrs. Connor's infernal boarding house. I hate it here. I hate talking to _you_. Finish the last drops don't you worry I'll finish it then leave me be back next week. No use gluing her just like that only breaks again. Trite romance redemption all a load of horseshit. We're all god's children with eternal souls down here all we do is rut and connive. Have it your way love is all you need[next two lines unreadable]_

Giles lifted his head from the small book and cleared his throat. It was daft. The man was a drunken sot, grudgingly included as the comic relief of the prophetic genre because parts of his diary predicted the titles of Beatles songs. But now, that passage…  
>"I think I've found something. It's horrifying and frankly, rather embarrassing, but I believe it fits our current, ah, situation. The majority of the text is a drunken ramble, but in parts it refers to one girl in all the world, who's come back from the dead, and had her 'sparky bits' knocked out, leaving her like Angel. It also implies a dystopia or apocalyptic outcome if we don't restore Buffy's soul to her."<p>

"Oh that's great! I was worried we'd just have a quiet weekend dealing with our super-powered best friend having come down with a slight case of Evil! But no, nothing boring on the Hellmouth! Always gotta throw a little apocalypse into the mix to spice things up a bit." Xander had stood up for his verbal explosion, and he plopped back into his chair looking defeated when he finished.

"I don't mean to hop on the pessimism bandwagon, but how are we gonna do this? We can't outfight Buffy, and we are kinda handicapped on the magic front…" Willow sighed and sunk down into herself, taking on the communal air of dejection that hung over the room.

"She's right. With Buffy being one of the bad guys now, and Willow not able to do magic 'cause of the whole being a crazy junkie thing, we're basically a bunch of civilians. We need someone strong to help us, and I think it's pretty obvious who to ask. We need Spike," Anya said matter-of-factly from her perch on the counter, unaware of Xander's reproachful look.

"I'm not sure that would be wise, Anya. While Spike's strange—" Giles hesitated, "fixation with Buffy has caused him to help us in the past, he's still a soulless and ultimately selfish creature. It's quite probable he'll see Buffy losing her soul as an opportunity to win her over."

"No! Spike's not like that anymore!" Dawn turned her whole body to face the Watcher, furious. "Did you just forget about last summer? He loves Buffy, for real. He'll know it isn't really her!"

"I'm not the biggest fan of the fang 'cause, you know, scary, and I've been on the wrong side of bumpy and bottle-in-the-face Spike too many times to get the warm fuzzies over him, but Dawny's got a point. He's not like he was, at least when it comes to Buffy, and we are kind of desperate. We could at least find him and see how he reacts. We'd be all cautious-like."

After a few more rounds of bickering back and forth the gang finally decided to risk approaching Spike for help.

* * *

><p>"They've all gone! Little chickens all flown the coop and our pretty little Slayer nowhere to be found." Drusilla pouted, then clutched at Aaron's arm, her mood darkening instantly. "Ooh! Filth! Depravity! Sick, sentimental Willy! Crammin' the light down his throat, wedding his lovely dark demon to it! I see him! Monster all tame and perverted, licking at the Slayer's boots an' draggin' her back into the sun. Naughty boy! Mustn't meddle!"<p>

The pair stood on Buffy's front lawn before the empty house. They'd taken their time getting from the warehouse to Ravello Drive, hoping that Buffy's first soulless actions would be fatal for her friends and would send her in search of more appropriate allies. Aaron watched Drusilla calculatingly. "You having a vision there, sweetheart?"

Her eyes went wide and her mouth pursed, she nodded solemnly.

"And if I'm translating crazy into English right, we gotta get to the Slayer before your soft, lovesick ex-beau does something to make her switch sides again. We'll let him steep in the warehouse for a bit; the bonds'll hold for a while yet. Then we'll see if the new Miss Summers wants to take care of him for us. That should squash any plans he might have to get her soul back"

"Spike's not family anymore…" Drusilla looked forlorn, "not even I can save him if he's a mind to go chasing after souls…"

* * *

><p>He didn't sleep, couldn't with the constant scream from the muscles in his arms reminding him he was still trussed up and exposed. But he thought. He turned her over and over in his mind, worrying at her like a loose tooth. It had been the Slayer, somehow, but not human, not really Buffy. It had been like seeing <em>her<em>. Her eyes bright, smile warped, crooning _"Pleasure? To take my leave of you, of course…Had I known, I would have dashed your brains out the moment I saw you. Spared myself a lifetime of tedium."_ Her words had never stopped whispering at him from the back of his head, not really. Just got better at drowning them out.

Despite all his mocking, his seeming nonchalance, seeing the Slayer with that same twisted familiarity, that same _wrongness_ staring back at him from behind her eyes had made his stomach turn. The last time he'd looked into eyes like that he'd… No! He wasn't going to bloody cock it up this time! Not with Buffy. He'd dust before failing her like he'd failed…then.

* * *

><p>The Scoobies tramped along behind Willow and the bobbing firefly of magical energy that would lead them to Spike. "Ugh, are we sure we haven't slipped into bizarro world? 'Cause there is something seriously wrong with us seeking out Captain Peroxide to help fight Buffy." Xander grumped.<p>

"It's not like we're _fighting her_, fighting her. We just need some extra muscle to help—" Willow abruptly shut up as she slipped into the warehouse, the others on her heels. For a moment no one said anything. Spike remained suspended as Buffy had left him, in a stray patch of florescent light from outside. "Spike!" Willow squeaked, "You're hung, er, hanging by magic in the middle of an empty warehouse!"

He smirked. "Noticed that, did you, Red?"

"It's funny because he's well-endowed and Willow noticed, and she's a lesbian." Anya explained perkily, laughing.

"Anya!" Xander looked horrified.

Giles removed his glasses and began to polish them, "oh dear lord."

"If you lot've all finished gawking, would you mind getting me the bloody hell _down_ from here?"

Tara cleared her throat, "O-of course." She moved from Willow's side with a quiet, private signal to her lover and approached Spike. She reached up so her hand was a few inches from the crackling cuff, her manner all business, and hmmed.

"'Hmm,' what, Glinda? Can you get me down or not?" A note of anxiety crept into his voice.

"Yes, I think so. But you're lucky the sorcerer who did this didn't mean it to be a more permanent binding. His magic has strength to it." Tara rummaged in her large handbag and pulled out a lighter, a small crystal and a bundle of herbs bound tightly in crisscrosses of colored string. She lit the herbs and held the crystal over the smoke, muttering something about opening circles and distracting someone's will. Then she briefly touched the crystal to each one of the magic restraints. They flickered, then disappeared and Spike tumbled to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

"Bloody hell!" He rubbed at the deep welts on his wrists and ankles, "Sodding John Wayne and his prissy pink magic, probably uses it to tickle his own arse hole, the great poof. That _hurt_!" He grumbled to himself and tucked his prick back into his jeans, buttoning them as best he could despite the giant rip Buffy had left in the seam.

Giles cleared his throat. "Now that we've resolved your distressing situation, which you can be sure I'll question in depth later, there are matters we must discuss. We came to ask for help, Buffy's—"

Spike cut him off, "a bit lacking on the soul front. I know." He sighed. "It was Dru and her stupid new fling, piece of fucking work, that one. Did the job, left, then Buffy came here, scrubbed clean of her soul. Seeing her like that, it was…." There was none of the usual snarkiness in his voice as he trailed off, his face pained.

"Save the crocodile tears, oh infamous bottle blond of evil and horndoggery. Like you didn't take advantage of the situation to finally get what you wanted! We all saw you with your dickhanging out! Gee, I wonder how that happened?" Xander burst out, gesticulating, his voice full of sarcasm and disgust.

Spike scowled. "Yeah, so we fooled around a bit, what'd you expect? Big Bad, here, not like I was gonna turn her down. But as soon as I saw how she was… how the _Buffy_ had gone right out of her…" He shook his head.

Giles swallowed, biting back his anger at Spike's cavalier mention of 'fooling around' with Buffy. As much as he hated it, Anya had been right. Spike was necessary, and for the duration of the mission the Watcher would just have to tolerate him, as odious as that might be. "Like I said, we came to see if you would be amenable to helping us restore Buffy's soul to her. It is a matter of extreme urgency, one that I believe calls for setting aside our differences and forming an alliance." He spoke tightly.

"Don't have to ask for my help, Rupes. I'm gettin' her soul back whether you lot want me or not. And if you don't like how I go about it, you can just piss off; I won't fail Buffy on account of some sanctimonious moral objection to my methods. What's 'right' is what gets Buffy back to her old soul-havin' self. End of story."


	5. Chapter 5

_Note: Alternate season six. Takes place just after "gone" and then goes off canon completely. The events of _Tabula Rasa_never happened, so Giles is still around and Tara and Willow are still together, although shakily.__**Warning**__: this started out as a smutty one shot, which then unexpectedly grew a plot. If you are offended by smut, don't bother reading_

_Disclaimer: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, I just borrow them for fun. _

_This is my first fic, and as of yet I have no Beta, anyone interested in betaing for me, I would be delighted to have your help! When it comes to update schedules, for the first several chapters of the fic, which I already have written, I'll be posting on a weekly basis. Once I catch up, I'll probably slow down to once a month; I will keep posting though, so stick with me! Thanks to everyone for the lovely reviews, they help keep me writing!_

Chapter 5

Buffy glowered as she strode down the empty street. It had rained briefly and the pavement was slick and starry with reflected light from the streetlamps. The air smelled sweet and wholesome. It pissed her off. She was evil and she was storming off from arguing with a vampire she probably should have killed instead of _blown_; the air had no right to smell wholesome. It should stink of death, and corruption, and bad things. Not fresh rain.

She clenched her fists as a new wave of anger rolled over her at the memory of Spike's words. Fuck Spike. Spike could go to hell. What did he know about being evil? He didn't even have a soul and he still followed the good guys around like some kind of trained puppy because he was 'in love.' Disgusting. God! The _nerve_ of him of all people, questioning her freedom and evilness. He'd see; she'd make him see she wasn't like some pathetic fledgling vamp. She had style; she had flair, and she sure as hell wasn't tied down to anything even remotely soul-y. She would do something _she_ wanted to do, something that floated _her_ boat.

As she pondered all the new possibilities opening up before her she heard a tell-tale crunch of shifting cartilage and frightened whimpering coming from an alleyway just ahead. Buffy grinned and dashed in, stake ready in her hand.

"Finally! I get to kill something!" She rushed the vampire where he had a college boy pinned against a wall, and yanked him off by the collar of his jacket. She planted a punch in his face that sent the vamp sprawling and in an instant she was on him, stake raised. She hesitated, "you know what? This is an important moment for me. First kill after the big change. Be a waste to be so conventional about it." She tossed the stake aside and the vampire's amber eyes showed a flicker of hope before the Slayer's hands fastened around his jaw and the base of his skull. She yanked his head from his body and he disintegrated in a whoosh of dust.

She wiped her hands free of the ashy vampire remains. "That was good. A bit of nice, vanilla vampire slayage to help me through this 'transitional period' Spike says I'm in. I think I'm ready to branch out now." She turned to the man cowering where the vamp had left him and her eyes widened, taking in the floppy brown hair and doe eyes.

"Oh my god! Parker!" Her face broke into a smile of complete delight. "This is perfect! Tell me, how have you been the last year or two? We _have_ to catch up!"

"B-Buffy? What are you—I, um, have to go." He turned to scamper away but before he'd taken even two steps her hand clamped around his upper arm hard enough to bruise.

"Oh, don't leave now! Don't you want to _reconnect_?" She backed him up to the wall, her voice seductive, her free hand slipping down to cup his groin. "Have a quick screw? I promise I've learned a few things since the last time you _used _me." Her grip below the belt tightened at the word 'used' and Parker whimpered.

"No, I never—I, I respected you!" His voice was desperate.

"Bullshit." She squeezed his balls harder, causing his face to scrunch up in pain. "but it's ok, I would've used me too. All naïve and innocent, practically begging for a lesson in the harsh realities of the world. And who better to teach me than you, all soulful eyes and skinny little pencil dick? Had to learn about disappointing sex sometime. I mean really, you thought I was following you around 'cause I was overtaken by puppy love? As if. I just wanted to get off, seeing as how you never even got me close."

Parker looked at her pleadingly, his eyes filled with terror, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Sorry's worth shit." She clenched her fist and he screamed, "and since you're not going to be using that worthless little excuse for a cock anytime soon, I think you better get on your knees" she grinned, and added, "bitch."

Parker's eyes widened and his knees went out from under him as Buffy tugged on his arm, pushing him down. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back so she could see his face, "I feel teeth, and I snap your neck." She said levelly, face hard. She was about to unbutton her jeans when the hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle, and she turned her head to the mouth of the alley. Drusilla. And another vamp who was obviously the cowboy Spike had mentioned. He _really_ needed to get with the 21st century. She shoved Parker aside and strode forward to confront the pair.

"I guess I should say thank you." Parker used the wall to pull himself to his feet and staggered away, glancing over his shoulder with horror, but Buffy paid no attention. Her gaze was focused on the two vampires. "But I think I'd rather ask what you're playing at. Drusilla, why did you take my soul away?"

Drusilla had a moment of clarity as she answered, "You took my Spike from me. He never did stop thinkin' of you, not even feasting on the plump, pretty little fruits of the jungle. So I took you from him."

"That, and we thought a rogue, soulless Slayer might be an entertaining way to really wake up the Hellmouth; have ourselves a little party." the cowboy drawled.

* * *

><p>The whole gang had made their way back to the house on Ravello Drive, deciding it was best to grab a few hours of rest before throwing their brains at the problem again. It was nearly daybreak anyway, and Drusilla and her damned cowboy at least would have to lay low 'til nightfall. Glinda'd put up a simple spell around the property that would alert them if Buffy came anywhere near the place. The Scoobies were all camped out upstairs, and Spike took the cot in the basement, praying for sleep as he threw himself down onto the lumpy mattress.<p>

It didn't come. He did the usual tossing and turning, the counting of sheep, then of happy meals with legs. He even, disastrously, tried having a wank, but he just kept seeing Buffy's eyes gone hard, and hearing her voice dismissively speak of murdering the little Bit. For all his insistence that she belonged in the dark, that she was like him, that she had no one; he'd never really believed it. He had just fallen back on the old instinct to hurt, to communicate the only way he knew how: through pain. In truth he loved her 'cause she _wasn't_ like him; 'cause no matter how he seemed to get under her skin and pull her into his darkness, it was really her doing the pulling. Infecting him with her light and making him care in ways he hadn't even thought about in over a hundred years. Bloody hell, he _killed _people, ripped their throats out and drank 'em dry; he was _bad_, he took what he wanted and didn't look back except to gloat. And yet, there he lay, on a shitty little cot in the middle of soddin' Californian suburbia, beneath a houseful of prattling, sanctimonious snacks, unable to sleep because his Slayer, his complex, and infuriating, and _good_ Buffy, had shown him what he'd seen every day for the past century: the same petty evil that motivated him and every other vamp, and it was just too bloody much for him to see it in _her_.

When the weak morning light began to give way to heavier midday rays, he finally gave up, and heaved himself off the cot, irritable from too much thinking and too little sleep. "I'm comin' up, so shut the sodding blinds, yeah? I don't fancy a dusty start to my day." He grumped from the top of the basement stairs, before opening the door.

"One hundred percent direct-sunlight free, come on out!" Tara's low and good-natured voice carried back from the kitchen.

Spike found the Scoobies loosely gathered in the kitchen, some still picking at haphazard breakfasts, others, mainly Xander and Giles, looking like they wished it weren't too early to pour a drink. "So, ah, Niblet, you got any blood?"

"There should be a container still in the freezer, I'll check." Dawn set to rummaging through the Frigidaire and heating him up his breakfast. No one said anything while the microwave hummed for a minute before dinging. Spike took the mug and sipped. "Well, enough with the impressive lack of morning small talk. Time for some plotting. I vote we get a hold of Drusilla, an' I torture her 'til we know what's what. The witches can make sure her fangy John Wayne doesn't go mucking the whole thing up. I'll leave the books to you lot. I do my _own_ research."

"Who made Evil Dead into boss-man?" Xander complained.

"You got any better ideas, whelp? 'Cause I'd love to hear 'em."

"Oh here's an idea: how about we don't center our plans to bring Buffy back from the dark side around Mr. Dark Side himself!" Xander's voice dripped with sarcasm and he squared his shoulders in a more aggressive stance.

Spike moved from where he'd been reclining against the counter and leaned across the island, challenging Xander with his eyes, his voice low. "Now you listen here, I—"

"Oh, shut up! The both of you!" Giles rubbed his forehead and took off his glasses, polishing them absently. "We are not centering our plans around Spike. But looking to Drusilla for information isn't a bad idea. After all, she did set it all in motion."

"Right then, it's settled." Spike's lips twitched up into a smirk, "you lot've just got to take care of Vampire Texas Ranger while I nab Dru."

* * *

><p>Drusilla tilted her head and stared at Buffy, an expression of cloudy curiosity dancing across her romantic, consumptive features. "Let mummy get a look at you." She sashayed over to Buffy and lifted her hand, caressing a strand of hair that framed the Slayer's face. The vampiress lowered her head and inhaled deeply. "Mmm! You smell of sunshine and violence! I wasn't sure before, but now I know! You'll be the perfect addition to our family!"<p>

Buffy jerked back, "Hey! Who said anything about joining the family!" God, how was she supposed to react to these guys anyway? They were technically on the same side now, she guessed, but Drusilla was still a complete mental case, and her 21st century impaired tagalong? Totally ick. Spike had mentioned her questionable taste in men, but Fangy the Kid here? Eww. He was all old-timey looking, and personal hygiene impaired. She wrinkled her nose, half expecting eau de manure to come wafting off him.

Drusilla ignored her outburst and continued gleefully on her train of thought, "You can bring Daddy back to us!"

Daddy.

Angel. No, she corrected herself, not Angel. Angelus. A slow smile spread across Buffy's face, casting a sinister look over her dainty features. She'd just see what Spike thought of her evilness when he saw her and his grandsire together, ready to torment him in every way their combined imagination could come up with. After Angelus' history with Drusilla, seeing him back together with Spike's second 'great love' would really twist that psychological knife. Buffy's grin widened. Now this was going to be downright _poetic_!


	6. Chapter 6

_Note: Alternate season six. Takes place just after "gone" and then goes off canon completely. The events of_Tabula Rasa _never happened, so Giles is still around and Tara and Willow are still together, although shakily. This is a Spuffy fic!_

_Disclaimer: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, I just borrow them for fun._

_I hope to continue updating on a weekly basis as long as possible, stick with me, there's lots more to come! Please read and review!_

Chapter 6

"So, does everyone have their parts?" Giles looked around the room at the gang, "Dawn?"

"Oh yeah," she grinned hugely, "I've been training for this one my whole life!"

"Willow, Tara?"

"All good, Spike's just got to aim it right." Willow answered and both witches nodded purposefully.

"Spike?"

"Oh, I was born ready, Rupert."

"Right then. Xander, Anya and I will lie in wait where we planned. We don't know for sure that Buffy will be with them, but it's better to be safe and assume she is."

As soon as the sun began to set the Scoobies split up, Spike, Dawn and the witches heading directly to the front of the warehouse, the others going off separately. Spike kept to the shadows, his duster pulled up over his head to ward off the last slanting rays of the sun. "I hate going out this early," he grumbled. The others said nothing, but kept close behind him as they approached the warehouse. Peering through the shattered windows, Spike could see the three of them on the loading platform. Drusilla and her boy lounged on the daybed, while Buffy sat cross-legged on a worked leather trunk on the other side of the platform, looking bored and resigned to their company. "Good thing Giles insisted on that last part of the plan, Buffy's here alright. This is your moment to shine, Bit." Spike turned to Willow and Tara, "you two stay here, watch, and back me up if I need it. Niblet and I are goin' in."

Spike and Dawn squared their shoulders and walked to the door, throwing it open and stepping through with a flare of drama. "Oi! Dude-rancher! Looks like your little spell didn't hold up as well as you thought, did it?"

"You come lookin' for more, boy?" Aaron stood up, challenging him.

"Well, I had such fun last time; turns out Buffy here gets off on a little bondage, so in the end it was very, ah, satisfactory." The blond vampire's lips twisted up lasciviously and he sent a wink Buffy's way.

"I hope you savored it, Spike. 'Cause that was the last taste of—Dawn?" Buffy turned to stare at her sister. "Oh, now you've done it, Spike," she said, not taking her eyes off Dawn. "I can't believe you brought her here, after your whole whimpering little 'don't kill her' speech." Buffy fumed. Her sister sported her favorite cashmere sweater, her classy yet affordable leather boots, the ones she liked to wear slaying, her brand new mini skirt _and_ the expensive earrings her mother had given her the year before. Buffy jumped off the platform and approached her sister, eyes flaming. "Dawn! _What_ are you doing wearing my clothes? Ohmygod, is that a ketchup stain?"

Dawn crossed her arms and pushed her hip out, throwing her weight to one side. Her voice oozed bitch. "It's pizza, but it doesn't matter. Even with the stain it looks better on me anyway. I'm only fifteen and I already look like more of a woman than you. The whole Slayer physique hasn't done wonders for your curves."

"Are you kidding? You're a child! I bet you're still making mooneyes at your babysitters with food all over your face." Buffy stood in front of Dawn with her hands planted firmly on her hips, her face set hard in the kind of anger that can only arise between siblings.

As the two sisters went at it with increasingly below the belt verbal jabs, Spike and the cowboy vampire stared each other down. "They told me you weren't much of a thinker, boy. But I hadn't taken you for a complete simpleton. Things won't be so easy for you as last time. And somehow I don't think our pet Slayer will be worrying her pretty little head over sex when we offer you up to her. Her sense of entertainment might be just a little more, shall we say, eclectic."

"Oh go ahead, you great poofter. Send some more o' that nancy-boy pink magic my way. It kinda tickles, all pleasant-like." Spike spread his arms, offering his chest in challenge and grinning as obnoxiously as he could manage.

Aaron scowled and raised his hand out in front of him, a burst of magenta energy shooting from his palm. Spike held his ground until the last split second, then lunged to the side, dodging the bolt. "Gotta do better than that, mate! You ever play dodge ball?"

The sorcerer leapt off the platform, leaving Drusilla to clasp her hands together and watch in fascination from the daybed. He let another bolt of energy fly from his palm, but once again Spike expertly ducked out of the way at the last minute. "Come on closer, gunslinger! Let's practice your aim!" The blond vampire beckoned him forward. This time when Aaron attacked, instead of dodging, Spike maintained his position. Just as the stream of magical energy was about to hit, he ripped open his duster to reveal a small make-up mirror dangling from around his neck. The deep pink magic collided with the compact and reflected back, pinning the sorcerer in the same crackling shackles he'd restrained Spike with the day before.

"There'd be a certain poetry to taunting you a bit; letting you stew for a while," Spike said, striding over to the hanging vampire, "I'm a poetic bloke m'self, when it strikes me. But lately," he reached a hand into his duster, "it's just so hard to find the time." He rammed the stake home and Aaron exploded in a shower of dust, the cuffs fizzling out as his remains settled on the floor. He pocketed the stake and brushed off his hands.

"Come on, Dru. We're goin' for a little fieldtrip." He marched up to the dais where she still perched on the daybed and yanked her to her feet.

"I don't want to go with you!" She snatched her hands away from him and stepped back, face clouded. "You've gone all smutty, playin' in the sunshine! Swallowin' the light for her…what did Mummy do wrong to have you stray so?"

He sucked in his cheeks and jutted his chin in a scowl, grabbing at her again, "Cut the prattle, Dru. I'm in no mood for games." He growled.

She pulled out of his grasp and smashed her fist into his jaw, sending him reeling. He roared and vamped out, hitting her back.

On the other side of the room Dawn had kept up her barrage of bratty verbal abuse, maneuvering Buffy toward the side door of the warehouse. "You know I was always the favorite, right? I mean, it's kinda obvious; you're such a freak show. All the stuff you put us through, burning down one school, blowing up another, breaking up Mom and Dad. It's a wonder she didn't send you away somewhere, for good. _Far_ away."

"_I _put you through?" Buffy sputtered and threw up her hands, then regained her focus, raging "Enough! I'm gonna—"

"You'll have to catch me!"

Dawn bolted out the door, taking full advantage of her slight head start. Buffy lunged after her without thinking, completely oblivious to everything but the supreme _annoyingness_ that was her sister. The door opened up onto a narrow alleyway strewn with haphazard stacks of crates, but Buffy was in enraged sibling mode, everything Slayer taking a back seat, and she neglected to scan her surroundings as she dashed out. Xander and Anya leapt out from behind one of the mountains of crates, positioning themselves to either side of Dawn and doing their best to look threatening.

"Really?" Buffy looked at the trio of Scoobies incredulously, then shrugged and launched her fist into Xander's jaw, knocking him flat. Just as she was pulling her arm back to take down Anya (saving the brat for last), she felt a sudden sharp stinging in her left shoulder blade. She twisted her head around and saw a small metallic dart sticking out of her flesh. A kind of heavy, buzzing, languor spread through her muscles and her knees buckled, crumpling her rudely onto the dirty asphalt. Before she slipped from consciousness she heard a soft, crisp voice very far away, "Right then, I'll inject her now while she's still knocked out. Xander, are you alright? It's most important we get her home and in chains before she wakes up."

* * *

><p>He'd used those chains just last year in that idiotic half-cocked scheme to prove his love to Buffy. Only that time Buffy'd been in them, with Dru roped to the support pillar. Now, he wasn't taking any chances on Dru squirming free of her bonds; she hung in the metal shackles, head still bowed in unconsciousness. Spike sat straddling a simple wooden chair, arms resting on its back, watching her with dark eyes and hollow cheeks as he waited.<p>

She'd wake up soon and he'd start what he'd done a hundred times before, only this time it would be business, not foreplay. His heart twisted uncomfortably. He loved Buffy now; he knew that in every dead cell and cold molecule of his body. But bloody hell if it didn't do something to him to see Drusilla hanging there, and him about to go through all the violent little motions that used to mean everything to them. To him. All the little cuts like kisses, aggression that resonated passion, showing that like she'd said, they could love quite well, if not wisely. But everything was different now, it'd all changed, _he'd_ changed damn it, and it meant _nothing_ anymore. It was a job, a necessary step to getting Buffy back, and he'd do it like the big bad vamp he was, with no poncy little complaints from the warped boy inside.

She stirred, her dark locks swaying and hiding her face where it rested staring at the floor. A tiny muscle in his jaw tightened and he pushed down everything but the task at hand, and the man who would do it.

"'S'not very polite, Spike, to send my friends home before I'm done playing wif them." She lifted her head and straightened out her legs, taking the weight off her shackled arms.

"Sorry, pet, didn't like him very much; got on my nerves." He looked at her pointedly, "Somethin' else been getting under my skin is this new attitude you've given Buffy. Right whiny little bitch, she is lately, and not in that delicious way that usually gets me feeling all manly. Don't suppose you want to tell me how to fix that?"

"Oh, put your witch on it. I'm not helpin' you get back to swimmin' in your Slayer." She sulked.

"Nope, not gonna cut it. See, Watcher's got some prophecy says we can't just paste her back together, like. So you're gonna have to do a bit better than that."

"Ooo, are you going to make me? Please make me, Spike. It's so much fun when you get all mean and nasty like, although I can hardly remember what it's like…" She goaded him with wide, mischief filled eyes, her lips forming a taunting pout as she trailed off.

Spike said nothing, just stood from his chair, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a flask. Instead of taking a swig he methodically unscrewed the cap and walked over to his former lover, coming to a stop just a foot away from her. He splashed her with the contents of the flask, causing the flesh of her chest to hiss and steam where the holy water dripped over it. She shrieked and threw her head back, pulling at her chains. But before the water had even stopped burning she'd straightened her neck and let a dribble of manic laughter come bubbling up from deep in her throat. She looked at him from under long lashes, mouth twisted in a gleeful smile, "Oh yes, come back to me, my Spike. Come back to Mummy, my dark prince!"

His jaw tightened and he pushed down a surge of old shame harshly twisted with longing, for how things used to be. He backhanded her full force across the mouth and her head snapped to the side, cartilage crunching as her demon came forward. She licked her own blood from her lips, grinning, "Do it again, Spike. Oh please, do it again."


	7. Chapter 7

_Note: Alternate season 6, blah blah blah. Ok, so smut warning for this chapter. It's not as detailed as scenes I've written previously for this fic, but it is sadomasochistic. If that offends you, skim over it. Like all my dark scenes (including ones in future chapters) I promise it's necessary for the plot and for character development. That said, I hope you enjoy. Please read and review!_

_Disclaimer: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, I just borrow them for fun._

Chapter 7

Buffy's skull was filled with sodden cotton balls that vibrated with a nasty electric current pumping through them in time with her heartbeat. She groaned, and immediately became aware of the heavy, dried-out lump that was her tongue cemented to the roof of her mouth. _God, what'd I drink?_ Was the first coherent thought to wade up to the surface of her not-so-function-y brain. Then: _no, not drink. Scoobies_. Oh, she was going to kill them. This was just too far. She'd warned them not to fuck it up; now she would just have to have herself a little fun. Before she could get a proper gleeful rage worked up, she heard heavy footsteps clomping down the stairs. She cracked her eyes open and sat up muzzily. She was on the cot, in her basement, and she was shackled to the wall. Great. An experimental tug let her know that they'd either seriously reinforced the restraints since the last time she'd checked them, or something was wrong with her slayer powers. Double great.

"I uh, brought you some breakfast." Xander approached her cautiously, holding a plate of pancakes and a glass of orange juice.

"Oo, pancakes! What'd I do to deserve pancakes?" She injected her voice with as much saccharine happy-go-lucky-ness as she could. "Oh, I know, I got hit with a tranquilizer dart and locked up in my basement!"

"Buff—you know why we had to do it. You'll thank us later, when you're back to being your good old Buffster self." His voice was slightly pained, and he set down her breakfast on the little round table by the cot, moving the candles to the floor to make room.

"Right, my good old self. Bet you'd like that, huh? So you can get back to following me around like Old Yeller. You really get off on the whole loyalty shtick, don't you? I mean you must, it's not like I ever gave you hope for anything else. Well except maybe that one time in high school…but even then you said no, in favor of 'loyalty.' Makes you wonder how deep this little kink goes… tell me, when you're getting all hot and heavy with your reformed bride-to-be, do you think about me? About how you're being the perfect, faithful, self-sacrificing right-hand-man by 'moving on,' when really you just want to bury yourself in me. You know, I bet you'd love it if you _actually_ got to sacrifice yourself for me; probably cream your pants laying down life and limb for your precious Buffy."

Xander's face twisted in horror, and he unconsciously stepped back, but he couldn't take his eyes off his friend. "Buffy, I—"

"I'm not your Buffy." Her voice changed from creeping insinuation to low, hard, steel. "Your Buffy has left the building. But I can do everything she could, and more. You want someone to follow? Someone to place your devotion in?" Her lips curled in wicked seduction, "I'm much fairer than your Buffy. She was such a little cock tease, wasn't she? 'Oh, I love you Xander, won't you stick around as my trusty, if useless, sidekick? You don't mind watching me get with a few evil dead things, while you console yourself with your right hand and your demon bimbo, do you?' Me, on the other hand, I'm reciprocity-girl. You scratch my back and I'll scratch…" She chuckled, ending her sentence with a lick of her lips and a long, slow appraisal of her oldest friend, her gaze finally coming to a rest on the hint of a bulge by the fly of his jeans.

Xander stood slack-jawed with his brain starting to melt out his ears before finally turning tail and fleeing up the stairs, his words wafting down as he slammed the basement door, "Good God, no one go down there! She'll eat you alive!"

The Slayer laughed to herself as she dug into her breakfast; oh this was just going to be too much fun. They might have her chained, but she was still in complete control of the situation; of every one of them.

* * *

><p>There was something timeless about a good demon bar, or even a mediocre demon bar, like Willy's. You might hate the company half the time, and it might smell like spilled yak's piss, but you could always count on finding your personal beverage of choice, no matter how strange, at a negotiably good price, and if you exuded the proper Big Bad attitude, no intrusions to your Big Bad thoughts.<p>

"Hey, Spike! How are you, Buddy?"

Spike sighed; unless of course, said bar was frequented by the world's most good-natured demon, see exhibit A. "'Lo, Clem."

"Hey, what's wrong? You seem kinda down in the dumps." Clem sat down beside him at the bar and tilted his wrinkly head in concern.

"'S nothing."

"You worried about paying back Teeth? 'Cause if you want I could front you a few kittens to get him off your back."

"Thanks, but it's not that." Spike downed his shot and sank into sullen silence.

"Well, if I can help at all…It might be better to talk about it, you know, instead of brooding."

Spike straightened immediately and glared at his friend, affronted, "You take that back! I don't brood! I—I ponder! Dark and dangerous things," he finished lamely, grumbling under his breath about foreheads, poofs, and hair that stood straight up.

Clem gave him a weird look, and raised his hands in surrender "Ok, you don't brood. All the same, if you want to get it off your chest, I'm here for you."

"Sod it." He poured himself another shot of bourbon and knocked it back before continuing, "Dru's back in town and she's gone and mucked everything up with the Slayer. I've got to figure out what's hidden in that nutty head of hers to put things right. But every time I start to torture her, she gets all turned on;" a short, humorless laugh escaped his lips, "like nothing's changed, like I'm still…" Spike trailed off and shook his head.

"Well, sometimes it works better to ask nice."

Spike paused in shaking a cigarette from his pack to study his friend, searching his furrowed face for any sign of a deeper meaning, but it was impossible to tell. "You know, you might have something there, mate. I think I know just what'll make her more forthcoming."

He left Clem at Willy's, after buying him a drink in thanks, and made his way back to Restfield. The top level of his crypt was dark, and more abandoned and desolate looking than usual. Despite the tatty armchair and the telly, the place seemed unlived in, different on some basic, non-physical level from how it had seemed just a few days ago, when Buffy was still…Buffy.

He slid back the slab of rock serving as a trapdoor to the lower level and slipped down into the flickering torchlight below. Drusilla hung with her knees bent, resting her weight on her chained arms, her head bowed and painted with wide swathes of shadow. He felt like he was stepping onto a stage and fought the urge to roll his shoulders and shake out his limbs; _come on Spike, time to put your show face on_, he thought. He vamped and was across the room before Drusilla could rise to her feet, one hand fixing her jaw in a vice grip, the other slicing up her torso with a thin, wicked looking blade, exposing her chest and leaving a trail of blood from her navel up between her breasts.

He licked the knife clean and Drusilla opened her mouth to speak, fear melting into arousal in her eyes, but Spike cut her off. "No." His voice was low and hard, "you don't speak. You don't do anything unless I tell you to. You don't _feel_ anything unless I let you." She whimpered and he tightened his fingers around her jaw, leaving long blue bruises.

"Now, I want you to feel pain." Yellow light glinted off the blade as he dragged it across the swell of her left breast, a trickle of blood dripping down to rest on her nipple like a bead of milk. Dru's eyes rolled back in her head and a small, carnal rumble resonated deep in her throat.

"Tut, tut, that didn't sound like pain, pet. Now, let's see if we can find something not quite so suited to your perverse fancy." He let go of her chin and buried his fist in her gut, sending her doubling over as much as she could within the restraining shackles. This time she coughed, and when she looked at him her eyes were alert and sparked with equal measures of fear and excitement. "Very good," he nodded and spoke calmly. "Now, pain again," he moved lightning fast, slamming his elbow into her cheekbone. Her vision exploded into little points of black and she cried out, reeling. With the world still swimming around her in washes of black, orange, and wine, she heard his voice far away, as if she were under water. "Now, pleasure."

Spike slowly licked all the blood from her body, starting by dipping his tongue into her navel and lapping the drops collected like dew, then making his way up to suck her nipple between his teeth. "You've my permission to speak, love," he murmured as a moan escaped her lips.

When she spoke there was a rare vulnerability to her voice that he hadn't heard since the first twenty years he was a vampire, since they were first a 'family,' under Angelus. "Have you come back, Spike? Mummy was so worried; head filled with foul pictures of you doing nasty things, and all for the Slayer…are you back now?"

He hesitated, wanting to press her further, demand to know what 'pictures' she'd seen, but he knew he couldn't. Not if he wanted his nostalgic little charade to have meant anything at all. He stood up and took her by the jaw again, deliberately putting pressure on the bruises he'd left before and caressing the line of her cheekbone with his knife, "what do you think?" he growled.

* * *

><p>"Spike, this is a terrible idea. I'm not sure if I've adequately expressed the extreme terribleness of this idea."<p>

"Oh don't get your knickers in a twist, Red. And don't even think about mentionin' it to the whelp, he'd stake me faster 'an rogering the soon-to-be Mrs. Whelp if he knew what was up. It'll work out, you'll see. Might be a bit scary for you, but it'll help us get Buffy back, and you'll be right as rain after a half an hour of those nice deep breathing exercises you do. So just play along, will you?"

Willow sighed. "Ok, but only because I want to help Buffy, and I can't do much magic, me not being exactly Ms. Stable Witch of the Month."

They'd had Buffy and Drusilla restrained in their separate 'dungeons' for several days now, and Spike had approached her that evening in the hallway while everyone was busy preparing dinner. Drusilla pretty much trusted him again, he said, but he'd have to play with her a bit to get her to talk about a Buffy-related vision she'd hinted at before. Drusilla and play apparently equaled kinky sex and food, and pig's blood wasn't going to cut it; he needed to offer her a real live morsel; enter Willow. He couldn't just nab someone off the street because of the chip, he explained, and well, he more or less had the Scoobies' morality on long term loan. Also Drusilla found the young witch to be particularly tasty smelling; not an encouraging thought.

"Right then, you remember your part and it'll all come off without a hitch. Let's go," Spike said once they had arrived at his crypt. Willow nodded nervously, and made her way down the rickety ladder he'd left to the lower level; the vampire followed close behind.

Shadows wrapped themselves through the subterranean chamber, seeming to twist and creep around the support pillars, the piles of rubble and bone, and curl up a pale, effulgent form framed by a wide doorway in one wall. Willow stepped forward with a kind of perverse fascination, waiting for the collection of lights and darks and twisted lines of contrast to resolve themselves into a shape that made sense to her. _Dear goddess_,_ it's Drusilla_, she thought, her eyes taking in the body of the chained vampiress. She was completely naked except for a complex pattern of slashes, burns, and bruises covering her entire body. Willow's stomach churned as she realized that not one of the wounds was random, they all radiated from or teased around the woman's erogenous zones. Holy water burns peppered her breasts; deep cuts striped her inner thighs. "Spike, what…?" The words slipped from Willow's lips before passing through her mental filters.

Spike let out a low chuckle, "I think we've frightened the witch, sweet. Should we comfort her? Put on a nice warm cup of tea?"

Drusilla's lips curled up in a smile far too energetic for the beaten state of her body. A soft laugh fell from her lips, as she answered her lover, "No! She'll taste better this way; I can smell her terror and revulsion, like salt water oysters! When does Mummy get to eat? It's been days since I had a woman."

Spike approached her and paused a foot or so from where she rested in her shackles, caressing the side of her face, "Don't fret, love, you'll eat. You'll drink her dry like a spring in the desert, all sweetness and moisture, yeah? But talk to me first; tell me what pictures were dancing around your brain about me an' the Slayer. I don't want any more of that rubbish cloudin' your pretty little head, alright sweetness? Let it all out so we can move on."

"Oh Spike," she murmured, "It was awful. I'm so hungry…"

Spike grabbed Willow around the collar and yanked her close to him, almost offering her up to Drusilla, but keeping her just out of the bound vampire's reach, "Tell me all the silly little snapshots from your head. Don't want you thinkin' a' me being anything other than your darlin' deadly boy."

Dru pursed her lips, remembering, "you were all different, shinin' all over, stuffed full of ugly sunlight, weddin' everything dark to somethin' long gone… salvaged for your Slayer…" her face screwed up, obviously disturbed by the images passing behind her eyes.

A simple blade appeared in Spike's hand and he traced the muscles in Drusilla's upper arm as he spoke, "What else, pet? Let me hear that honey voice and I'll give you your nectar, yeah? And then everythin'll be right, no more pretendin' for the white hats."

Willow whimpered in his grasp and feebly tried to pull away from him, to no avail.

"It's awful, Spike. I don't want to look at it, make it go away, please." Drusilla begged.

"Say it, love, and I'll make it go away. It'll all go away and we'll rule the Americas like we ruled Europe, with a poison bite and an iron fist, leaving glorious destruction in our path, yeah? Just tell me what you saw."

The pale, slender vampiress pouted and stared at the ground, speaking quietly, "you melded your dark, beautiful demon with that nasty white soul for her. Because of your impurity she found her spark again, for good, all twisty and tied up together, like bait for the belly of a fish."

Understanding flashed in Spike's eyes and he nodded almost imperceptibly, his jaw tightening. "Good to know, love," his grip on Willow's collar stiffened, and for a moment she was sure he'd toss her to the hungry, manacled vampire, but he shoved her towards the ladder. Throwing one last look towards his old lover, Spike turned and followed the witch up out of the crypt.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

As soon as they had left the crypt Willow began walking quickly and resolutely towards the exit, keeping her gaze fixed on a patch of ground a few feet ahead of her, and never turning her head to either side, much less to look back at Spike. He ran after her and put a hand on her shoulder, spinning her to face him, "what's gotten into you, Red?"

Willow pulled away from him and continued her speed walking out of the cemetery. "Willow! Hold up just a minute, will you?" Spike hurried after her. "We just got the information we need to fix Buffy, far as I'm concerned that's a good thing, yeah? So what's with the sudden cold shoulder?"

"The sudden…? Spike, I don't even know what side you're on anymore! Down there you were just a little too good with the kinkiness and the creepy sex slave having and the dark, menacing promises. Kinda makes a girl remember that for over a hundred years you weren't pretending, that was really you."

"Still is, pet. In a way."

Willow let out a noise of disgust mixed with frustration, "see? This is why I really just need to get home, to my nice, Spike-free environment, around my nice, not so morally ambiguous friends."

Spike snorted, "yeah, good luck with that, Red. Should I tell Anya and Buffy to clear out then? Leave you and the whelp to form the executive board of the bigot club? Sorry, I'm afraid I'll be a bit too busy getting results to join in the fun."

"Ugh, it's not the same, Spike. Anya's reformed, and Buffy, well, it's temporary and she can't help it. And I don't see them beating their lovers to a bloody pulp as a part of sex play."

Spike cocked his head to the side, remembering, "actually, you shoulda seen some of the marks Buffy left on me during her idea of foreplay…"

"Eeww! Ickyness! That's another thing! I'm tired of being understanding, non-judgy Willow! I'm feeling pretty damn judgy! And the whole you and Buffy having sex thing? Kinda high on my list of things to judge! How could you take advantage of her like that? You say you love her, but then why didn't you understand that she was going through a hard time, not exactly the best time to start sleeping with her ex arch nemesis!"

"No, _you_ don't understand," Spike growled, stepping in front of Willow and cutting off her path. "You lot are supposed t' be her friends, but you're such a bunch of selfish, near-sighted, whiny, little brats that you couldn't let her rest in peace. Just had to go playing with the dark forces, didn't you, Witch?" He shook his head, letting out a bark of mirthless laughter, "what a joke; you're darker 'an all of them, darker 'an _me_, maybe, and yet here you are, all brassed off with me for not being as vanilla as your quaint little sensibilities would like. Get a grip, Red. All I've done since you and the slayerettes brought Buffy back is give her what she needs, what she bloody well _deserves_,and you lot are too busy pretending life's all sunshine and roses to even see it!"

Spike's speech struck Willow dumb, and when she finally responded all the fury had drained from her voice, leaving only bewilderment and a lingering note of revulsion. "But those things you did to Drusilla, I mean, I know she's a bad guy, but she was so beaten up. And the way it was all sickly erotic…You must have _enjoyed_ doing all that." She shuddered.

"It was," Spike sighed and searched for a way to explain it, "nostalgic. And it's not as bad as all that; I only gave Dru what she wanted. Different strokes, right Red? You of all people ought to know that. The only really cruel part about it was the fact that I was lying to her. And I was; you can be sure of that. God help me, it's still all about Buffy. I only did it to save her."

Willow pondered that a while before answering "you'd do anything to save her, wouldn't you?" she glanced over at him from beneath a furrowed brow, her words barely more than a whisper. He gave a small nod, and she took a deep breath before continuing, her voice louder and lighter this time. "Well, it's still majorly icky, but I guess I believe that you really did it for Buffy. And maybe it's icky to me like Tara and I might be icky to you…So I can be all tolerance Willow for now."

Spike smirked, "Hey now, who said I find anything about you and Glinda 'icky?' On the contrary…" He curled his tongue behind his teeth and grinned lasciviously at the witch.

"Oh, you!" Willow smacked him on the arm, "now you're just being a pig on purpose!"

000

"Back up there a minute, Willow. How is this in any way, a good idea? This is Spike we're talking about, remember? Big on the bleach and creepy, stalker-like obsession with Buffy, but kinda lacking on the team spirit front? Not to mention, I don't even know how it would work…"

"Well, we're still kinda hazy on the how part of it, except we can't exactly use the same method we did with Angel, it's too volatile…but really, it makes sense to at least try! If what Aaron told Spike was true, and the Don Finch prophecy seems to back it up, we can't just use any old spell to return Buffy's soul to her, her demony slayerness and soul have already gone too unmixy for that. Drusilla's visions have always been reliable, once you get beyond the whole craziness factor; if she saw Buffy getting her soul back for good because of Spike 'melding' his soul to his demon, we should at least look into it." Willow gasped for air a bit as she finished; that had been a record-breaking ramble even for her.

Xander didn't even try to address all of Willow's points; he just threw up his hands in exasperation and gestured towards the blond vampire, "yeah, but _Spike_!"

"Harris, you sanctimonious, bigoted prick." Spike spoke with low, pent-up fury. "You might care more about hating me than saving your best friend, your goddamn _hero_, but thankfully this isn't about you! Any of you. I'm not saying you wouldn't be a help, damned if I know why but you lot do have a knack for the mystical, but this is about Buffy, and now it's about me. If there's even a sliver of a chance that getting my soul back will restore Buffy's to her, then I'm going to the ends of the bleedin' earth to get it. I'd rather do it with you lot at my back, make things a hell of a lot easier, but I am doing it. With or without your soddin' approval. So get fucking used to it."

Anya let out a noise of confused frustration. "I don't get what everyone's so upset about. All you guys do is complain about Spike being all evil and soul-lacking. Well, he's about to go run off to get a soul, so where's all the jumping for joy?"

"But honey, it's Spike. We can't exactly trust him," Xander said gently.

"But he's changing himself, going against everything he was, for love! I thought you good guys ate that stuff up. _You _sure should." Anya looked pointedly at her fiancé before turning away and ignoring him completely.

Spike threw a grateful glance at the ex-demon and she nodded at him, still avoiding Xander's gaze.

"It's not as simple as that, Anya," Giles said with irritation, "I don't doubt that Spike's feelings for Buffy seem very real to him; and because of the heightened stress of Buffy's current, ah, state, he might be temporarily considering extreme measures. But no demonic, evil creature has ever willingly adopted a soul before. Why even Angel had to be—"

"I'm _not_ Angel," Spike growled.

"I know that, Spike, but you are a demonic, naturally evil being and the point remains that it's entirely unprecedented for—"

"Well maybe I'm bloody different! I don't know, not really much for self-reflection! Not like it matters a damn anyway, it's _my_ soddin' soul, and _I'm_ gettin' it back! For her!" He got up and stormed out of the Magic Box, muttering under his breath, "don't know why I bleedin' bother with this lot, never understand; don't want to. Fucking white hats."

000

The Scooby meeting petered out pretty soon after Spike left, everyone heading to their respective homes and agreeing to reconvene the next day. Soon after Tara, Willow, and Dawn had arrived back at 1630 Revello drive, the phone rang.

"Hello?" Willow answered, cradling the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she puttered around the kitchen tidying up. They hadn't spent much time on housekeeping the past few days.

"Willow?" came a sharp, hissing whisper from the other end of the line.

"Anya? Why are you whispering?"

"I don't want Xander to hear me; he's in the other room. I'm calling about Spike and Buffy."

Willow stopped moving around the kitchen and put her hand to the phone to hold it more stably. "Tara, Dawn and I were thinking about the um, situation too. You think you can make it over here without Xander smelling anything fishy?"

There was a pause as Anya made some mental calculations before she answered, "yes, I think so. I'll tell him I want to plan my bachelorette party with you guys to take my mind off the whole Buffy being evil thing."

Twenty minutes later the Scooby women all gathered in the master bedroom, wanting to avoid any chance of their conversation drifting down to Buffy in the basement. They'd all spent as little time as possible down there over the past week; every meal delivery time came with a personalized dose of psychological poking, prodding, and taunting from the chemically weakened Slayer, and they were all quickly reaching the limit of what they could take.

"Well I'm just going to say it," Anya burst out after they'd exhausted their meager reserves of pleasantries. "Xander and Giles are being dumbasses. The Slayer is freaking terrifying. I spent a thousand years with the Slayer being the big, scary boogey man, um, woman, to me and my friends. And I had magic demon powers to protect me then! Now I've got nothing and I'm feeling just a tiny bit threatened! You guys are used to fighting on her side, but until she gets her soul back, _we're_ her enemies. Take a look at the life expectancy of her enemies! I mean, _Spike's_ the only one still around that she hasn't killed."

Tara nodded in agreement, "Anya's right. Buffy's formidable and it's only a matter of time before she finds a way out of the basement. Even without her Slayer powers, she's cunning."

"Yeah, she defeated a crazed master vampire while locked up in an old house the last time Giles gave her those power-draining injections," Willow mused.

"So we're going to help Spike get his soul back, right?" Dawn piped up excitedly. "I mean, that's why we're having secret meetings and Anya's lying to Xander, right?"

Anya nodded matter-of-factly. "Yes. Honesty is an essential part of a healthy relationship. I wouldn't be going behind Xander's back if it weren't to save his life down the line. I really need him to be alive for the wedding. Also, I love him."

Willow sighed lightly, "well, now that we're all talking about the elephant in the room, how are we going to do this? We can't use the gypsy curse, and I can't do any heavy lifting magic wise."

They all sat silently for a while after that, thinking. After a bit Anya began to look uncomfortable and chew on her lip. She battled with herself for a few minutes longer before expelling a frustrated sigh. "Ugh! I am so going to regret suggesting this. I am going to get myself into so much trouble."

"So you have an idea?" asked Dawn excitedly.

"Well, I know this demon…"


	9. Chapter 9

_Note: sorry if this chapter's a bit explanation-heavy, gotta move the plot along, we're approaching the second stage of the story!_

_Disclaimer: the usual, everything _Buffy_ belongs to Joss Whedon, I just borrow the characters for my own naughty and nefarious purposes._

_Dedication: I've been meaning to do a dedication for a while, and I keep spacing it last minute, so yay for remembering this time! This chapter is dedicated to sweetprincipale and A Dreamweaver, who are amazingly encouraging and make me feel like a real writer!_

Chapter 9

As Anya left the Summers' house late the next night, after another clandestine Scooby girls meeting, her nose wrinkled at the cloud of cigarette smoke wafting over from under the tree. "Spike, it's kind of useless to try the lurky vampire thing when I can smell you from here. Smoking's not exactly stealth friendly."

Spike materialized sulkily from behind the old tree. "Yeah, well, it's soothing. I wasn't trying to lurk anyway, I was standin' about. 'S a whole different vibe."

Anya shrugged. "Well your habitual Buffy-stalking is actually quite convenient right now. I wanted to talk to you about this whole soul thing."

"Yeah?" He looked interested. "Your boy know you're here, talking to me, about an idea he hates?"

She sighed. "No. But don't you go getting any ideas mister; this is strictly to save his ass down the road."

"Right, so what can you tell me about my soul then?"

"Well, for starters, me and the rest of the girl Scoobies have decided to help you get it back. Not because we like you or anything, but Buffy's seriously frightening and none of us wants to find out what will happen when she figures a way out of those chains in the basement."

At that Spike let out an amused laugh before slipping back into silence to hear the rest of what Anya had to say. "So anyway, _how_ we're going to help you is really a terrible idea and I can't believe I talked myself into even considering it, but Buffy is just a shade more terrifying than my demon ex." She took a deep breath after her mostly self-directed mini rant and Spike raised a questioning eyebrow, but said nothing as she continued. "I used to date, very briefly, Chupealmas demon, which, if you haven't heard of them, can create dimensional pockets. They basically store people in these mini dimensions and slowly feed off their souls by doing something weird to their memories, I don't really get it. But, well, when we were together my ex told me this story, about how he heard that it's possible to do it in reverse, something about memories again, and reliving them."

Spike nodded. "Never heard of 'em, but demons are a diverse lot, I see how something like that might work. When do I set out on my little trip down memory lane?"

"Well, we still have to more fully plan how to bind my ex and get him to help us, but there is one more issue."

"An' I'm sure you'll let me know what that is…?"

"Willow found it; we might as well go inside so she can explain."

The two lapsed villains made their way back inside and upstairs to the master bedroom where the rest of the girls were still chatting. "'Lo Red, Glinda, Bit." He nodded at them each in turn, civil, if not William-polite. "Demon girl says there's another kink to this already strange business of getting my soul back."

The redhead's eyes animated and she started moving her hands about, working herself up into a good-and-proper bookish ramble. "Uh-huh, well I um, 'borrowed,' Giles' copy of the Don Finch prophecy, and I was reexamining it and decided to cross reference with the Codex of—"

Spike rolled his eyes, but there was no real malice to his voice, "Cut to the chase, yeah? I got enough of books and musty accounts before the turn of the _last_ century."

She chewed her lip. "The process has to be, um, mutual."

"So we'd _both_ have to go questing in this pocket dimension whatsit?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Is there somethin' I'm not gettin'? 'Cause I don't think the Slayer's exactly itching to go on a cross-dimensional road trip with her favorite undead pain in the ass."

"Well…" Willow looked around awkwardly, avoiding Spike's gaze. "She won't really have a choice."

Spike's eyebrows shot up, "no? And how exactly do you plan to bend Buffy the Vampire Slayer to your will?" His voice practically oozed skepticism.

"Umm..ooh boy, you're not gonna like this. Please don't go back to bottle-in-the-face Spike. I don't like him." She took a deep breath and spit out the next part as if it were all one word, "."

"_What_ now, Witch?"

"You'd um, be mental roommates."

Spike remained uncharacteristically speechless, trying to wrap his brain around having someone else in it. He loved Buffy, passionately and recklessly, but this wasn't just shacking up with her for a romantic weekend getaway, hell, it wasn't even stranded-on-a-desert-island-stuck-together-til-one-of-us-caves-and-offs-the-other-for-some-peace-and-bloody-quiet, this was putting her up in his own _mind._ Letting her see everything. And that was intimate on a level that terrified even him. Not to mention soulless Buffy was kind of fucking obnoxious.

He shook his head in disbelief and spoke before he could change his mind. "Oh, bloody hell, have Glinda do it. And soon, before your boy and the Watcher catch on to what's up." _And before I turn tail and run very fast in the opposite direction_, he added silently.

* * *

><p>The demon bird and the rest of the Scooby girls were making their preparations for binding and manipulating Anya's ex into helping them. He had an hour before having to meet back at Revello Drive to get on with the whole half-cocked scheme. Giles and Xander were diverted patrolling, thankfully far from Restfield until long after it would matter. The shadows lengthened outside and the red yolk of the sun dripped below the horizon as Spike entered the lower level of his crypt from the sewer access. The torches had long since guttered out and a heavy, accusing silence pricked his skin. Bloody hell, this was <em>not<em> going to be fun.

"Dru? I'm sure you're about ready to take my head off, and you've a right to be angry, but I'm not apologizing. I had to do it, for Buffy, you understand. I'll let you go if you promise—" He stopped in his approach. Until then he'd been so focused on what he was saying, hating that William kept fighting his way into his voice, that he hadn't paid much attention to his shadowed surroundings. Now he looked at the limp, empty chains with widening eyes. "Oh. Oh, _bugger_!"

Dru was gone, and he hadn't done the setting free himself; now _that_ was going to be a problem. Nothing he could do about it now though, he had an appointment to keep. The Scoobies would just have to look after themselves. With a growl and a few frustrated kicks at the furniture and debris he left the empty crypt and headed back to Revello.

* * *

><p>Four young women moved around the basement drawing chalk lines, laying out sands and powders of different colors, and arranging bowls of fragrant herbs. Chained to the wall on the far side of the room, one very pissed off vampire Slayer heckled them with technique after technique, trying to psych them out of whatever it was they were doing.<p>

"I'm actually kind of excited about this, Will. I'm told junkies who fall off the wagon can be pretty evil; maybe we can be BFFs again! Stay up all night braiding each other's hair and terrorizing the innocent!" Buffy enthused, clapping her hands together in a parody of delight.

Willow looked nervously at Tara, who stopped what she was doing to give her girlfriend's hand a squeeze. "Don't worry honey, you'll just be feeding me some energy, I won't let any of the magic touch you," she comforted softly, her voice for Willow only. The redhead's lips tweaked up in a grateful half-smile and she returned the squeeze before going back to arranging spell ingredients.

"Aww, that's cute, really. She wants to protect you. Did you tell her, Wills, that you don't need protecting from the big bad magic so much as it needs protecting from you? Oh come on," she gave a knowing little grin; "it'd be so _easy_. To just take a little sip, absorb some of that extra prickle. It's been _so_ long since you—"

"Shut up!" Willow shouted, her cheeks splotched red, her fists curled tight at her sides. Buffy just laughed, the triumphant peal echoing through the basement and up the stairs.

"Oh, not the psychobabble racket again." A bored British voice made its way down the stairs, accompanied by clomping boot steps. "It's just so overdone."

"Spike! I thought you were coming at ten?" Anya asked, glad for the distraction.

"Yeah, well, I came early. Besides, looks like you could use some help with Angelus Jr. here. Don't worry, I've got plenty of practice with this prattle. Best way to deal is simply ignorin' it; works all sorts of delicious mayhem on their sense of self importance."

Buffy let out a string of creative expletives directed at Spike. "See? Works like a charm."

"Well, it's just as well you're here, now you can watch Tara summon your soul from the ether," Anya chirped.

"Nice show. Glinda, you want to explain it to me? What're all these trinkets?" He gestured to the diverse magical paraphernalia set up around the basement.

"Well, h-here we have Buffy's soul; remember Drusilla had it when we went to capture her and Buffy?" Tara pointed to the Muo-Ping and Spike nodded. "A-and, we'll use this for your soul."

"Why's mine different? Looks solid, and more cloudy and crystal like."

"It's because we're summoning your soul from the ether whereas Buffy's soul was taken directly from her body. So we're using the Orb of Thesulah for you, and Aaron used the Muo-Ping for Buffy's."

Spike nodded, not particularly interested. He didn't like magic, as a rule; there were always consequences, and never what you'd expect. But he'd always gone against his better judgment when it came to Buffy, right from the very first when he hadn't been able to wait 'til St. Vigeous to try and kill her. Good thing Red's bird was running the show instead of her though; if magic tended towards the unpredictable, Willow's magic was downright chaotic. Although that had turned out rather well for him in the past, he mused. First time he kissed Buffy was 'cause of one of Red's sodding spells gone out of whack. His lips twitched at the memory; he'd had to be very careful how he sat for a week or so after that, to hide the cock stand the Slayer had given him every single time she'd entered the bleedin' room.

"What're you grinning about, traitor?" the Slayer grouched.

"_I'm_ the traitor? You're the one who threatened to kill her mates, pet."

"Yeah, but you're the vampire actively chasing after his soul. Talk about identity crisis. And you call yourself evil…" She shook her head in disgust.

Spike sighed, "I don't think I've been able to call myself much of anything definite since I started hanging around you, Slayer, except maybe a man. And I've got this sneaky suspicion you'll find a way to wreak havoc on that one too, sooner or later," Spike replied with wry honesty.

Before Buffy could form a retort, Tara's low, melodious voice spoke up, "Ok, I'm ready to get started. Let's all circle up guys." Everyone except the restrained Slayer moved to form a circle and hold hands, with the Orb of Thesulah resting at the center. Glinda started chanting something in Latin he'd probably have understood if he'd cared to pay more attention. Instead he focused on the feel of it, trying to let the growing magical energy resonate and grow in him before sending it towards the blonde witch. The usual hocus-pocus and fireworks started then, white light glowing and clinging to their skin and the crystal sphere in the middle; the air starting up in a crackling hum. Glinda's chanting became more intense and her hair blew back in an unnatural wind as all the energy focused into and through her, channeling through her body and building, building until he could taste copper in the air and smell ozone. Until it snapped, and all the vibrating light rushed out her pores and out of the air, and into the waiting globe. Tara sagged a bit in exhaustion and they all dropped their hands.

Spike moved to pick up the luminous ball, rolling it slowly from one hand to the other, his lips pursed while the others watched him. Even Buffy remained quiet. When he finally broke the silence his voice was soft, musing, thinking aloud rather than addressing anyone else, "So, this is it. The missing piece. It sparkles…"


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: the usual, everything _Buffy_ belongs to Joss Whedon, I just borrow the characters for my own naughty and nefarious purposes._

Chapter 10

Buffy made a noise of deep disgust in the back of her throat. "Ew. Vampires and sparklies _so_ do not mix. Spike, you are totally losing whatever sexy bad boy points you had left by goggling over the shiny things."

"Oh, shut it, Slayer." He dropped his gaze from the crystal ball holding his soul and when he turned to look at her his habitual mask of sly cockiness was set firmly in place, as if it had never faltered. "I was bad enough to get Dru to spill about your soul, and that crazy bint can take some seriously twisted workin' over. Had her beggin', I did. You remember begging, don't you, Buffy? " He curled his tongue obscenely behind his teeth in a snarling smirk, his use of her name somehow inappropriately intimate.

"Fuck you, Spike. If it weren't for my brat sister," she jerked her head, gesturing at Dawn, "I'd be thoroughly enjoying bringing your favorite grandsire back to play. You want to talk badness and exes, and I will trump you every time, _rollerboy_."

"Oi!" Spike began, but Anya interrupted him before the pair could degenerate into further taunting.

"Would you two stop? I need to concentrate on summoning my ex and manipulating him into helping us, and you've got the sexual tension in the room up to extremely distracting levels." The vampire and Slayer continued to scowl at each other, but fell silent. "Good. Now, we've got the binding circle laid out, how did that summoning ritual go again…?" Anya mused to herself and then began chanting and lighting candles set up around a diagram made of salt and red sand on the floor. There was a tense, expectant hush after her words fell away and they all waited to see what would appear in the circle. Nothing happened. Anya let out a little grunt of frustration and was about to blow out the candles and try again when there was a sudden pricking thickness to the air, then a little pop, and a blue humanoid figure materialized in the center of the circle.

"Anyanka! You, you called!" There was a note of wonder in the demon's voice. He stood maybe six feet tall, and was covered in shimmering bluish-green scales. His head sprouted a mane of wild, indigo hair more reminiscent of something from a 1980's hair band than a powerful, dimension-creating demon. And far from being furious and intimidating as everyone had expected from Anya's trepidation about calling him, everything in his voice and posture spoke of longing.

Anya sighed. "Yes, Joe, I called."

"Does this mean you want to," he bit his lip, "give me a second chance?"

Spike cringed at the hope in his eyes, the poor sap. That look was far, far too familiar for comfort, and he knew from experience that it did not lead to anything remotely pleasant. He hoped the bird didn't come down too hard on the guy.

"I'm sorry, nothing's changed."

Joe's face fell, "then why…?"

"You said if I ever needed help with anything, I could count on you. And I need help now. It's really, really, important."

The demon seemed to swallow his hurt and when he answered his voice was steady. "Right, I did. So, um, what did you need?" He tried to take a step towards Anya, but jolted back as he knocked into the invisible barrier extending up from the diagram on the floor. He looked down, noticing it for the first time. "You bound me?" The hurt was back in his eyes, now accompanied by anger.

"Well, yes. But it was only a precaution. You know you tend to get a little grabby, and well, I'm an engaged woman, and I can't have exes getting all touchy-feely!" Anya blurted.

"Engaged?" he roared, "you called me here to help you after years of no contact and you just conveniently neglected to mention that you're getting married!" His eyes fell on the only other male in the room, "Oh no. Tell me it's not the vampire. Please tell me you haven't fallen in love with a _vampire_!"

"Oi! I'm right here! I'll have you know vampires are perfectly respectable members of the underworld!" Spike burst into the conversation, indignant.

Anya rolled her eyes at him before turning back to her jilted ex-lover. "No, it's not the vampire. My fiancé is a very powerful demon of, con- I mean, de-struction! Yeah, he's huge on the destruction! Not the kinda guy you want to upset!"

"Oh please, Xander's—" Buffy began derisively.

Tara cut her off with a few hastily muttered words in Latin and a gentle touch on the forehead and the Slayer slumped forward on the cot. "I, um, thought maybe I should put her to sleep to get ready for the consciousness-transferring spell." The other girls, and Spike, shot her grateful glances.

"Consciousness-transferring spell? What have you gotten yourself into, Anyanka? I don't even know if I should help you. You clearly only called because you were desperate, not like you wanted to see me or anything… And you're hanging out with humans and vampires, I bet I'm too demon for you now. Was it the greenish tint to my scales? It was wasn't it? I knew I should have had them dyed…" he trailed off sulkily.

"Oh, now don't be silly, the green is quite attractive, it highlights your eyes."

"You think so?" he asked, mollified.

"Yes. In fact, I know someone else who'd be very interested to make your acquaintance as a," she paused, shooting a glance at Dawn, "um, a grown up friend. I think you'll like her. She's a vengeance demon like me."

"Really?" Joe sounded interested, "is she pretty? You know how much I love a woman with well-defined facial veins."

"Oh yeah, Halfrek's a great beauty. I'll let you know how to call her if you just do this one itty bitty little favor for me, what do you say?" Anya wheedled.

Joe caved. "Yeah, ok. What do you need?"

"We-ell, you know how you told me that it was possible to do the whole dimensional soul extraction thing in reverse? I um, kinda need you to do that for these two." She gestured to Spike and Buffy.

"That's disgusting! If anyone found out, they'd think I had an eating disorder!"

"Oh come on, please? No one will know, and I'll set you up with Halfrek, and…" Anya searched for something else when it seemed like he wasn't going to budge, "and if you're not helpful I'll be forced to tell your mother that when we thought I was pregnant, you wanted to raise the baby to be a secular demonist!"

At that Joe the demon's purple eyes bugged out a little and he made emphatic 'no' motions with his clawed hands, bringing a chuckle to the vampire's lips. "I'll help, I'll help! What's a little Roman feast once in a while, anyway?"

"Great! Tara, you get Buffy in Spike, and we can get this show on the road!" Anya said, pleased with herself and leering a little at the unintentional innuendo.

"Yeah, of course. Baby, get ready to feed me some energy, ok?" She looked to Willow, the exhaustion starting to show around her eyes, then lit the two bowls of herbs she had set out earlier. She placed one at Buffy's feet, beckoned Spike over to them, and placed the other at his. He watched her take a small bottle from her purse and pour an inch of slick oil into a shallow dish. "Ok, Spike, I need you to dip your left palm into the oil and then take Buffy's hand in yours." He bit back a twinge of anxiety and did as he was told, slicking his palm before gently taking Buffy's hand and lacing his fingers through hers. Tara placed one hand over Buffy and Spike's clasped fists, and held onto Willow with the other. She began to hum wordlessly, more of a winding tune than a chant, long, haunting vowels rising in volume as she went on. For the third time that night the air in the room thickened and buzzed with magic.

Buffy's previously limp fingers went rigid, twining harder with Spike's, and the thin layer of oil between them started to prick and spark electrically, painfully. _Fuck I hope Glinda knows what the hell she's doing,_ Spike had time to think before the little shocks went from annoyance to a rushing jolt he felt in his bones. He let out a roaring bellow. The vampire and Slayer remained joined for a shuddering second, locked in an explosive surge of power before they were both thrown back hard, crashing into opposite walls of the room.

He was muddled from smashing his head into the cinderblock walls of the basement, but he could still feel her. She was quiet, heavy, but he could feel her in him. Filling him. He gasped for air he didn't need, almost overpowered by the conviction that the bolt of magic had somehow restarted his heart, unable to ignore the sense that something inside was beating so heard it would break his chest. His hand moved of its own accord, lifting slowly to rest on his breast, his eyes going wide when he felt only familiar stillness. "Buffy…"

"She won't 'wake up' for a little while, because of the sleeping spell I put on her, but Buffy's consciousness is within you now," Tara said softly, her tone providing more comfort than the simple information of her words. Spike said nothing, just nodded, still adjusting to feeling Buffy-presence in his toes, in his hair, buzzing in his lips and stinging behind his eyes.

Dawn and Willow moved to adjust Buffy's unconscious body where it slumped twisted, still in chains, against the wall of the basement. Dawn stroked her sister's hair tenderly. "So, she'll just stay like this? Like a coma, until Spike gets back with their souls?"

"Yes Dawnie, her body will stay asleep until she gets back, but don't worry, she'll be totally healthy. We can take turns being Buffy-nurses, and you can paint her nails!" Willow reassured the younger Summers sister, who rolled her eyes to hide the flash of worry in them.

"Umm, this seems like an important moment for you guys, but um, I kinda have someplace I need to be. So, if we could get my part of this out of the way?" Joe butted in awkwardly.

"Yeah, I'd like to get the fuck out of Sunnyhell and onto my luxurious holiday as well, if you don't mind," Spike added, his voice just a tiny bit too loud.

Everyone nodded. "So, how's this work then?" he asked.

"Usually I do this with folks who have their souls in their bodies, but this is a special case. Why don't you just hold the two souls, and then, well, I guess it'll be obvious." When Joe finished speaking, instead of closing his mouth he opened it wider. All of a sudden his perfectly proportionately sized mouth was stretching bigger and bigger, his jaw literally extending to the floor. A long, snakelike, blue tongue rolled out like a carpet from between ivory teeth longer than Spike's forearm.

"Oh balls. I have to go in there, don't I?" Spike stared at the swirling dimensional portal at the back of the demon's throat. He tucked the two soul-filled globes into the side pockets of his duster and turned back to the Scoobies before heading in. "Right then, this is awkward. You lot watch after the little Bit, or I'll rip your throats out, and er, take care of yourselves. I'll bring Buffy back good as new. Oh, and by the way, keep an eye out for Drusilla, she's escaped. Well, I'm off then!"

Before any of them could process that information or say anything to stop him, Spike was running forward, booted feet pounding down the welcome-mat of the demon's tongue and catapulting him head first through the cloudy swirl at the back of his throat.

* * *

><p>Hunger. Hunger so strong he thought it would rip and gnaw its way out of his belly just to be sated. And fear. Fear caking him like the mud under his nails and sucked into his nostrils, and eyes, and bleeding out his knuckles and everything pushing too close too hard, crushing him, suffocating. Then he was struggling, clawing upwards, gulping air, and water pouring down his throat and into his lungs, and <em>that smell.<em> That smell attacked him, filling his nose and mouth and throat and suddenly everything else was gone. He wrenched himself from the ground and screamed as his gums split and his bones crunched and pain and power and _hunger_ took over, vibrating through every inch of skin and cord of muscle, and demanding blood, _now._


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: all things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, I just borrow them for fun._

_**Warning: **this is a really dark chapter, but a necessary one for character development. I'm putting in an in-text warning before the worst part, so if you are likely to be offended by descriptions of some of the more horrible things Spike could have done on his first night as a vampire, skim over that part. I'll summarize in a post script so that the story continues to make sense. I really don't want to offend anyone! That said, I hope you all like the chapter, it was really hard and intense to write!_

Chapter 11

Buffy snapped awake. There was no period of grogginess or transition, just a murk of nothing and then complete and total awareness, everything pushing sharply on her senses all at once. Most overwhelmingly, the scent of blood, so much stronger and richer than anything she'd ever smelled before. She groaned as a bolt of hunger (or maybe desire?) shot from her belly down between her legs, where she felt something stir and stiffen…huh? But there was no time to worry about the unfamiliarity of her body. Her eyes were already fixing on the source of the intoxicating aroma that had called her attention to the difference in the first place. Just a few feet away stood a thin, pretty, young man with black eye and a split lip. A deep growl ripped from her throat and she leapt forward, long fingers finding and digging into trembling flesh. There was no hesitation, he didn't even have time to shriek as she yanked his head harshly to the side and bared his neck, tearing into it savagely with her fangs.

She moaned as his blood welled and filled her mouth, almost burning her it was so hot, pulsing with his weakening heart. _God_, she could feel his heartbeat swimming past her lips and she gulped greedily, lost in the taste of it, the intense and overpowering physicality of the life pouring itself into her. She grinded her hips into him, no longer able to ignore the new, hard length straining between her legs and threatening to burst with the erotic thrill his blood sent through her. She thrust against him roughly as she drank, her pleasure building to a frenzy as the blood flowed more and more sluggishly until finally, as the murmur of his heart slipped into silence, she shuddered and exploded.

"Ooo! Mummy's made a dirty boy! Spillin' 'imself all over his first kill. I'll have to paper train you! Bad dog!" crowed a gleeful voice from off to the side.

"I'll leap through any hoop you set for me like a circus lion if I get more of _that_ as my treat." When Buffy heard the familiar low tenor leaving her lips to form a response, she didn't know how she hadn't paid attention to it before. It had been there the whole time, a rumble of masculine presence exulting along with her as she drank, as she came, and now it pushed its way to the front. "God, it's like ambrosia." It, no he, definitely he, licked his, her lips, savoring the last clinging red drops. The words were different, softer, more cultured, but the voice was unmistakable. '_Spike?'_ she questioned, silently.

'_In the flesh, love. Though it's a bit crowded in here now that you're sharin' it with me, innit?'_

'_I'm _in_ you? Like, in your body?'_

She felt a wave of amusement, like a chuckle, _'Yeah. Kinda kinky, don't you think? How this time _you're _filling_ me _up.'_

'_This is too weird.'_

'_Didn't seem to mind a moment ago, pet. When we were feeding. That was as much you as me.'_ His words had a smirky little echo to them and she felt him tweak her, their lips up into a grin. Damnit, this was going to make pronouns difficult, she thought and felt another one of his silent chuckles roll over her.

Drusilla carried on, oblivious to their internal dialogue. "Oh, what a beautiful, deadly boy you are!" she cooed, "so much to learn! Come along then, follow Mummy and if you're very good I'll let you hide under my skirts before Daddy gets home!" She reached out to lace her fingers through theirs, pulling them along through the wet night of the cemetery.

'_Where are we?'_ Buffy asked.

'_Not where, love, when. We're in my first night as a vampire. That's why I sound a bit off when I talk for us. I'm just going through my lines from that night. There was still a lot of William in me then.'_

Instead of responding Buffy turned her attention to their surroundings, starting by looking down. Everything looked just a tiny bit smaller. Well, duh, she thought, Spike's taller than me, I'm in Spike, hence, tallness. And don't forget that other physical difference you already got a firsthand demonstration of… the thought wiggled its way forward of its own accord and Spike must have heard it because she sensed a little swell of pride coming from him. _'Like that organ, don't you, pet?'_

'_Shut up,'_ she thought at him, but felt a thrill of excitement stir between their legs. Wait, did that come from him, or from her? Ugh, this was too confusing.

'_Just my luck,'_ she sent his way, _'I get stuck inside a vampire and it just has to be _you_. You'd think a vamp field trip would be educational from the evil perspective, but no, I get soul-searchy, love's bitch boy.'_

'_Oh, you want evil, Slayer? You'll get evil. This is my first night as a vampire; it's all about the bloody evil!'_

'_Heh, this is one time I can get behind that word. Bloody sounds fun.' _she paused, then continued, her tone curious_. 'Hey, isn't this, like, weird for you? Being all with the grr and the slaughter now that you're soon-to-be souly?'_

'_First of all, you're 'soon-to-be-souly' too. And secondly, 'm still a vampire, for fuck's sake' _he shot at her, indignant, _'I don't have my soul yet. Plus, anyone we eat here is already dead, not like I'm killing anyone new. This is more like reminiscing.' _he grinned, despite the kernel of misgiving buried deep within the part of his psyche that was still private. He remembered this night, and wasn't sure how he felt about Buffy enjoying it.

'_Well, it's new to me,'_ she thought as their nostrils flared at a whiff of something musky but with a tanginess to it that set her, their, mouth watering. _'What's that smell?'_

'_Fear.' _

Drusilla must have smelled it too because she stopped and pulled their arms around her waist, wrapping her own around their neck and leaning in close. Buffy felt something build in their chest, making her feel like she needed air though she hadn't even thought to take a breath since waking.

"Scent that, my William? Someone's horribly frightened! Now be a dear boy and give us a kiss before having your first hunt. Show Mummy how much you love her." And then her lips were moving against theirs, her sweet little tongue darting in to explore hungrily, and Buffy was kissing back, desperately, whatever had been growing in their chest now threatening to overwhelm her. She was hard again, she knew that much, but this was different, she felt this everywhere, burning her, rising in her throat, pricking her eyes, she had to— "I, I love you," it was William's voice, William's words, but she _knew_ the wonder and truth that filled them, _felt_ it, "what do I call you?"

"I'm Drusilla, prince, and you'll love me forever." Her lips curled in a satisfied smile and she tugged them along after her, following fragrant trail of their prey.

'_What the hell _was_ that?'_ Buffy shouted mentally, still trembling with emotion.

'That_ was how I felt the first time I kissed Dru. How William felt.'_ Spike's sigh washed over her. _'Makes sense,' _he continued, _'the point of this charming little trip down memory lane is our souls. 'Course we're gonna get the whole living color experience, not just a fancy light show._'

'_Well, it's gross.'_ Buffy sulked uncomfortably.

Spike rolled their eyes, _'Oh, pardon me for sullying your evil highness with my private emotions. Bitch.'_

They lapsed into silence and soon Drusilla led them into a cobbled alley near the cemetery. A tall, full-figured woman with red hair and a dark cloak pulled tight around her walked quickly away from them. Fear wafted off of her as she made her way home; it was late, and she had no escort but even so, her steps were purposeful and determined.

_**dark part starts here**_

"Go on, catch her, Willy." Drusilla whispered softly, the cool breath of her words tickling their ear, "Show Mummy what a bad, bad man you are." She pressed her fingers into their back, giving a little shove, and they were stalking forward, silence coming as naturally as the fangs that once again broke through their gums in anticipation.

They pursued her down two streets, listening to her heart beat louder and louder and closing the gap with each turn she took. She rounded a third sharp bend, and something changed. There was an almost imperceptible new layer to the scent, but William only had an hour's experience with a vampire's nose, and wasn't slowing down for subtleties.

They stepped around the corner and head first into a heavy, brutally swung, earthenware jug. Cheap wine poured into their eyes as it shattered, blinding them on top of the daze brought on by the unexpected blow. "Don't you follow me! I'll fight you to the last!" the woman cried at them, her voice harsh with terror and rage as her footsteps pounded away. But in a minute they were after her, no longer stalking, but chasing, the close walls of the narrow street winding past in a cold blur until they were on her, clawing and tearing, face contorted in a growl, eyes hard yellow ice. And she was punching and gnashing and screaming in desperate fury, and they were ramming a fist into her mouth, and shoving up her skirts. She clenched her thighs together and clamped her jaws down hard, her teeth biting savagely into their hand with enough force to have broken human bones, but it didn't matter. The vampire was too strong, prying her knees apart and forcing into her, cold and rigid, slicing her open like a bruise as his fangs tore into her neck.

And it was nothing, nothing; it was drinking and rutting, and he saw nothing, felt nothing but himself. His cock, his fangs sunk deep for _him_, not her struggle. Not her life seeping away. Not her dead eyes screaming: _you won't ever know me!_ Just blood and fight and friction. And two lost passengers, an alien audience.

**_Ends here_**

They left the body where it fell, drained and sticky and just so much more waste decorating the anonymous London streets. Drusilla found them at the mouth of the alley and wrapped them in praise and promises, winding her arms around their neck, her words a parody of misplaced romance. "You give me tingles in my toes, sweet William. Take me someplace lovely and dark to pass the day; I want to take hours and hours to make you tingle." So in the approaching grey of dawn they found the graveyard again and slipped into the catacombs beneath the chapel, the pitch dark blue to their vampire eyes.

Buffy and Spike maintained mental silence, curled in separate corners of their mind as Dru stripped William's muddy clothes from them. She guided their hands to the laces and buttons of her dress, murmuring macabre nonsense as she swayed and squirmed in slow excitement. She pushed them onto a coffin protruding from the wall and crawled into their lap, rubbing herself against their stiffening member. William's love washed over them as he covered Dru's neck and shoulders with kisses, tonguing her collarbone and the hollow of her throat. When the vampiress sank down onto them with a moan, somewhere inside Buffy shivered, divorcing herself from this absurd and impossible act of lovemaking. She'd come with them; she'd shudder and gasp and fuck with them, but not this, not this wave after wave of unbearable tenderness that somehow kept pouring forth from William's dead chest. It was too much.

Later, when the sun was climbing outside and Drusilla grinned languidly, sated, they found a roomy sarcophagus and dumped out the previous tenant. Two bodies and four people crowded into the grave to drift off to sleep, and of all of them, only William felt close to anyone.

* * *

><p><strong><em>summary: <em>**_Dru pushes the newly-turned William to rape the red-haired woman, in order to prove his masculinity and evilness to her. He does it._


	12. Chapter 12

___Please read and review! I hope you enjoy!_

__Disclaimer: the usual, everything _Buffy_ belongs to Joss Whedon, I just borrow the characters for my own naughty and nefarious purposes.__

Chapter 12

Spike was playing pool at the Bronze. The balls clicked, colliding on the felt and two dropped into the pockets at the far end of the table.

"Nice shot." The Slayer flipped her hair behind her shoulder, the light of the overhead glinting off the long curve of her neck and casting shadows around her eyes. Grungy rock played from the speakers somewhere, canned music, not a live band, and now that he thought about it, Spike realized the usual din of people talking, dancing and drinking was conspicuously absent. He paused, straightening from where he'd begun to line up his next shot.

"Slayer, why are we at the Bronze? And why isn't anyone else?" The sultry atmosphere that had enveloped them as they played faltered at his question. She wrinkled her nose in that way she always did as she considered his question.

"Um. I don't know. We were…" She hesitated, searching her memory, "We were sharing a body, and sleeping with Drusilla underneath a graveyard. God, soulless dreams are freakin' weird." Her lips pulled into a little frown of distaste.

Right, that cozy little holiday down memory lane; now he remembered. "Hate to break it to you, pet, but I think this is the dream. That was real; I remember everything leading up to it, how we got there, why. I have no idea how we got to playing pool at a deserted version of your favorite nightclub."

The Slayer looked around, taking in the empty club. "Great." She sighed. "So, this is only temporary, and then I'll be back to wearing the Spike suit and reminiscing over the good ol' days?"

The vampire nodded, and Buffy's hands immediately flew to her breasts, then between her legs. "Well, at least I'm a girl again when we're dreaming."

Spike laughed out loud. "Missed those bits, did you, love? S'ok, I missed 'em too." He smirked.

"I bet you did. But you'll have to admire from afar, I told you that unfortunate sucking off in the warehouse was the last of me you'd get to enjoy."

"That so? And, ah, how many times did I _enjoy_ coming with you back there in the encore of London, 1880?" His eyes danced and his tongue curled teasingly.

"Oh get over yourself," she said, her voice filled with scorn. "William came; I was just along for the ride."

Spike moved closer, around the table now and closing the distance between them. "Bollocks, Slayer," he rumbled, "you loved it; I could feel your mind, shivering against mine as you experienced my prick from the inside, feeling every spasm, every spurt, all wrapped up in Dru's cool little cunny."

His words kept her pinned for a moment, breathing hard just inches from his parted lips, about to lean in. But then she snapped out of it and lifted herself up to sit on the pool table, breaking out of that little envelope of air between them that had become so magnetized. "Yeah, about that. You are one twisted freak of a vampire, you know that?"

He gave her an unreadable look, "uh, hello, evil, pet. Twisted's just part of the package. Thought you'd have gotten a kick out of the dark stuff."

"Oh, no, the violence and cruelty were totally refreshing. It's the other part that was sick, the mushy, romantic, love-me-gently crap." She pulled a face. "How can you go from the deliciously evil defiling of an innocent to _that_?"

Spike sighed, bothered by her reaction to the whole thing, and not quite sure why. The other Buffy, _his_ Buffy, would have been disgusted at what he'd done, at being forced to relive it with him. His rationalizations that it happened over a hundred years ago and there was no point feeling bad over it now wouldn't have meant a sodding thing to her. She'd still have beat him to within an inch of his unlife for it, maybe even dusted him, finally. You can't make excuses for an action like that; it never went away, not ever. That's what she'd have said, at least. That you could forgive, maybe, in time, but _never_ forget.

When he answered, he didn't know which version of her he was talking to. "You still don't get it, do you? I loved Dru immediately, devotedly. Love's not good or evil, Buffy. It's just love. I've done a lot of terrible things for it." He looked down, avoiding her gaze. "A few good ones, too, more recently," he added quietly.

"You can't love. Demons don't. I don't, and I wouldn't want to! It's disgusting." She crossed her arms stubbornly.

"You know I do." He rested his fists on the pool table on either side of her thighs, leaning in to look at her with the blue of his eyes so dark it was almost black. "You felt it. You could feel it again…" his voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse with hope, his lips centimeters from hers. _Bloody hell, what am I doing?_ He thought as he moved to kiss her, _this isn't even her_. Except that it was, not completely, not the way he wanted her, but almost, and he wanted her so much. She made the same arguments as his Buffy, just came at them from the opposite side of the fence. She even hurt him the same ways, only this time he was hurting her all different, with lapses in his evil rather than the clumsiness of his attempts at being good.

His mouth had barely closed over hers when she shoved him back forcefully, jumping off the table after him as he stumbled, "I'm _through_ feeling what you feel," she snarled, "it's time you did things _my_ way!"

She punched him in the face. Hard. She leapt onto him where he sprawled, refusing to see him, and shook him by the lapels, growling, "come on, vampire, fight me!" He didn't say anything, just stared into her eyes disconcertingly, his blue gaze stabbing into her and feeding her fury.

"You piece. Of shit. Sentimental. Dead. _Thing_! _Fight me_!" She stood up, jerking him upright with her, and threw another punch. He seemed to make a decision, and easily ducked away from the blow, but didn't counter with one of his own. She stayed on the offensive, swiping him with a round house kick which he avoided by swerving and grabbing her foot to deflect her force. She spun and landed on her feet. "_Hit me_!" she screamed, flying at him, her face betraying the intensity of her rage.

They danced, her attacks growing more and more forceful and manic, reckless. Gone was her usual calculation and grace, leaving only wild, unfocused power, lashing out with a desperate urgency again and again and again. Spike bounced on the balls of his feet, ducking out of the way and deflecting her blows with ease, never hitting back.

She goaded him, needing to awaken and somehow touch his violence. "You're disgusting! You make me sick! You can't even be evil right!" Hatred and frustration rose in her throat, threatening to choke her and pour out her eyes. "How can you try to _love_? _Why_?" Her words sounded strangled, and Spike felt some huge and unidentifiable emotion wash through him, slipping into each and every cell and compelling him forward despite his resolution not to respond. He grabbed her and crushed her to him, pressing his lips to hers and shutting out everything else. She moved her mouth against his with the same bubbling rage that fueled her attacks, her tongue stabbing into his mouth and claiming everything it tasted.

"Still doing it my way, so don't get any ideas," Buffy growled, yanking away from the kiss. She was completely focused now, and she dug her fingers into his biceps to throw him, sending him flying and crashing down into the pool table. In an instant she was on him, above him, the harsh light overhead striking her hair like a twisted, static halo and leaving her face dark. His breath hitched as she wrenched open his buckle, then the belt was gone, and his jeans were pushed roughly down his hips where hers pinned him down. "Buffy," he gasped.

"Shut up," she silenced him coldly.

The cut of her gaze raised a lump in his throat and pricking in his eyes, but he was too far gone to object, and when she ripped open his shirt he arched into her touch with a whimper. She moved without speaking, methodically wrapping her fist around his cock and giving it a perfunctory pump before pulling her panties aside with her other hand and rubbing his head against her clit. His erection twitched as her heat rushed into him and he groaned despite himself. This, this was a Buffy he recognized: angry, disconnected, using him, and all he could do was go along and try to keep up, because he'd take her any way he could get her, accept anything she gave him. _God, I am such a ponce._

She gripped him hard, grinding against him to find her pleasure, and he bucked in response. For now, desire was enough. He twisted his hips, angling his prick from her clit to her slick opening, and she fixed him with a heated stare, her pupils dilated as she pushed down onto him. And he was lost in her, grunting as her walls squeezed him each time she rose and descended on his stiff length. "Buffy," he managed, "fuck, you're so tight."

The Slayer smiled sinfully down at him and clenched her smooth muscles, her grin widening as his mouth shivered open in a silent moan. "Of course I'm tight, I'm the Slayer. I could bring you off without even moving, just a twitch," she paused, giving him a demonstration, "of the right muscles, and you're mine."

_Already that_, he thought as he gasped and thrust deeper into her. She rocked against him for a long time, lips parted as her breath came in short pants, her hands rising to caress her own breasts, pinching at her nipples. Spike reached out, splaying his fingers over her thigh and rubbing her clit with his thumb. She began to shudder and ride him harder, building towards her climax, her fluttering walls massaging him towards his own release. He flicked his thumb faster over her swollen nub and she cried out, arching her back, her insides spasming around his cock and sending him tumbling over the edge with her. They remained locked in aching orgasm for long seconds that stretched out towards infinity until she finally slumped forward, resting on hands planted to either side of his head, gulping air.

Spike spoke first, "that, that was amazing, love."

Buffy raised herself up, arching her back and arms in a catlike stretch, giving his semi-hard member a little thrill of residual bliss. "Yeah, nothing like a good dose of sex and violence to release the tension. I feel much more relaxed now, thanks, Spikey." She laughed, patting his cheek patronizingly as she moved off him and adjusted her skirt and panties.

Spike sighed and tucked himself back into his jeans and did up the zipper and button. Buffy was getting more and more familiar; she might not be kicking him in the head or worrying about her virtue this time, but her casual callousness had the same effect in the end. He felt dirty, which didn't make any sense, because he'd wanted it, wanted her. He'd come as hard as she had, and would do it again the second she asked him to. Again and again. So why did he feel like this?

* * *

><p>Giles ripped off his glasses, his eyes hard flint that was all Ripper-rage. He'd stopped by the house after parting ways with Xander at the end of patrol, and now his knuckles whitened from gripping the edge of the island in the kitchen. "Idiot girl! This goes beyond arrogance. Have you even the <em>slightest<em> idea what you've done?"

"I-it wasn't just h-her. I-it w-was all of us." Tara protected Willow, her stutter worse in the face of the Watcher's fury.

"All of you then. We have no way of knowing how this sort of prolonged psychic bond in tandem with a joint 'soul quest' will affect Buffy! Even if it works they could come back with some kind of permanent link!"

"That's very unlikely, but I'd much rather have to deal with an ensoulled Slayer linked to a morally ambiguous, but equally soul-y vampire, than have evil Buffy running around solo trying to kill us all." Anya crossed her arms over her chest.

"Morally ambiguous? Are you mad? He's a sociopath on a leash who's fed his frustrated violence into an unhealthy obsession with Buffy!"

"That 'obsession' is called love! And it's why I'm alive, and why we can trust him to fix Buffy for us!" Dawn shouted.

"Oh, you can trust him, can you? I suppose that's why he told you about Drusilla immediately instead of waiting until after getting what he wanted from you?"

"It's obvious why he did that," Anya began patiently, "saving Buffy is his priority, we come second. It would make no sense to tell us until after he was sure it wouldn't affect his chances of getting Buffy's soul back. If anything it means we can trust him more, because he'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe." She had no idea why the simple, utilitarian logic of it wasn't clear to them.

"I won't have any rationalizations, Anyanka. He did it out of self-interest, as always." The Watcher squared his jaw stubbornly.

"Giles," Willow began, placating, "I know it seems rash, but we studied the prophecy carefully. We did our research this time, and this was the only way."

"Bugger the prophecy!" He slammed his fist down onto the counter, losing his temper even more.

"It's Buffy's soul on the line…"

"Exactly! This is my dau—" he caught himself, "my Slayer you're gambling with. And I will not have her subject to the whims of mass murdering vampire!"

"I'm sorry, Giles," Willow said softly, "but it's already done."

He sucked in a deep breath and expelled it slowly. "So am I." He stared down at his glasses as if noticing them for the first time, and began to polish them carefully before putting them back on. When he spoke his voice was quiet, careful, but hard. "I sincerely hope your trust in Spike is well-founded, for all of our sakes. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to retire for the evening. I can't be a part of your reckless machinations."


	13. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer: All things _Buffy_ belong to Joss Whedon, I just borrow them for my own naughty and entertaining purposes. This chapter includes dialogue from AtS season 5, episode 8 _Destiny_, by David Fury and Steven S. DeKnight, as well as a snippet from BtVS season 7, episode 22_ Chosen, _by Joss Whedon. _

_Sit back, relax, and please, read, review, and enjoy!_

Chapter 13

When they'd woken up it was still day, though just barely, and Dru had brought them through the sewers to that posh hotel, the one where he'd first met Angelus. Spike felt Buffy's surprise at seeing, and hearing, her ex change to gleeful amusement when Angelus turned from Drusilla to take notice of them.

"Do you have any idea what it's like having nothing but women as travel companions, night in and night out?" The older vampire grimaced, clamping his hand around their wrist and forcing it into a shaft of sunlight peeping through the heavy drapes. Smoke began to rise from their skin, searing pain trailing after each rising curl.

They snatched their hand away angrily. "Touch me again…" William warned.

"Don't mistake me," Angelus continued, unfazed, "I do love the ladies. It's just lately, I've been wondering..." He slowly extended his clenched fist into the light, watching intently as his flesh began to sizzle. "What it'd be like, to share the slaughter of innocents... with another man."

Buffy practically guffawed as Angelus rotated his hand in the sun, speaking huskily through teeth gritted against the pain. _'Wow, homoerotic much? Really, I should have seen this coming, what with all the rampant unresolved sexual tension between you two.' _ Spike didn't reply, just scowled mentally as her silent laughter tickled over him.

"Don't think that makes me some kind of a deviant, hmm?" The larger vampire pulled his smoking fist back into the shade and fixed them in his gaze, daring. "Do you?"

Buffy hissed internally as William reached their hand out into the light, eyes fixed intently on Angelus. Both Buffy and Spike could feel the pride, and excitement, swelling in their chest as he proved himself to his patriarch. _'You are one sad, kinky, little vampire.'_

'_Yeah, well, kinky comes with the gig. An' I was young and impressionable, anyway. 'Course I wanted to impress my grandsire.'_ Spike sulked.

'_I have to say though, I´m kinda hoping this develops into something. Oo, there could be oil of some kind involved__!'_

Before Spike could respond Angelus was clapping them behind the neck and grinning and they were laughing great big belly laughs, giddy with acceptance. Spike cringed inwardly at his younger self's naïveté, hoping Buffy wouldn't notice it. If she did she let it slide, intent on watching how this first encounter with his grandsire would develop; he was picking up little glimmers of images of him and Angelus grappling in loincloths, covered in oil. He sighed. _'Just watch the show, pet_._ I can see what you're imagining in that __nasty__ little head of yours, and it doesn't play out like that. Make me feel like a piece of meat, you do.'_ he grumbled. She responded by sending him the crystal clear, surround sound, and definitely _not_ PG13 version of just what her nasty little head could imagine. He fought the urge to draw on his own creativity and reply in kind; this was not a road they should go down in the middle of a flashback.

"So, William, was it?" Angelus was asking, "you've got an air of the gentleman about you, William. I wonder; how deep are we going to have to dig to get past the manners and morals? Uncover all that sick, pretty, violence underneath?"

"Oh, only about six feet of muck and mire, I'd say. As Drusilla can tell you, that's all it took to have me gobbling up innocents," William boasted, puffing out their chest.

"Feeding's well and good, Willy, but it's an animal instinct. Base. Any fledgling can eat. But you, there's more to you than that, isn't there? And I want to see it: all the vengeful, hurtful fantasies you hid too far down to even smell 'em; every twisted, power hungry, artful atrocity you lusted after in your sleep, and then prayed forgiveness for upon waking." He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "I want to taste your shame. Because if you want to be more than just some hungry dead man; if you want to really be one of us, you have to love the dark." He was standing just inches away now, and he took their chin in his hands, turning their head to the side to whisper in their ear. "So, William, tell me every dirty little secret."

Drusilla cackled, wagging her finger at her sire. "Oooh, naughty Daddy, play nice! I'll share once I'm through my turn!"

Angelus howled with laughter and clapped them hard on the back again as they shifted awkwardly and cleared their throat. "Right, when do we get started makin' me one of you, then? 'Cause I'm feelin' a mite peckish."

* * *

><p>"Not yet!" Angelus growled, exasperated. They cast their eyes over the beaten, naked, form before them, chained to the dank and crumbling stone walls. Their sire had insisted on lighting a single, pathetically guttering torch to throw deep, stretching shadows over the abandoned burial chamber deep in the catacombs. Created an atmosphere more conducive to fear, he'd said. They were pretty sure the hours of pain and the threat of imminent death had more to do with her terror than the lighting scheme.<p>

"Why not? I'm hungry." They sulked. _'Ok, I know I'm all gung-ho evil girl, but there is only so much of this I can take; it's been hours. When is he going to let us eat her already?' _

'_I know! That's Angelus for you, spends all his time on the bloody pre-show while the rest of us are just waiting for a sodding bite. And look where it gets him, half the time all this artful stalling just lets them get away. Take a look at _you_ for instance.'_ Spike griped, his current frustration perfectly in line with Buffy's and his younger counterpart's.

"Because," the elder vampire snarled, "it's not about _hunger_! You can find some urchin on the street to slake your thirst, if that's all it is. This is a lesson in power, and subversion and vengeance. She's everything you hate; you have to break her!" He gestured to the wilting form sagging against the wall.

"Yeah, alright. So we kill her." Angelus shot them a look of disgust, and William (or was it Spike?) continued. "Come on, we've been torturin' her for hours now. Hell, you've gotten her to admit to shaggin' her sister's husband from spite, and she's pissed herself with terror. I think she's broken enough. So why can't I eat yet?" They finished petulantly.

Angelus let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed his forehead. "This wasn't even a proper hunt! I just wanted you to get a taste for the artistry of a good kill. But it seems you lack that appreciation, so go ahead; drink your fill. I'll have to take a different approach in your education."

'_Boy, is he full of himself. As if he's the high and mighty authority on evil. I'm just starting out and I bet could show him a thing or two.' _ Buffy thought to Spike as they knelt over the bound, barely conscious woman Angelus had been 'teaching' them with for the past couple hours. _'Damn right you could! Bloody infuriating he is; always has been, always will be.'_ Spike responded as they tore into the woman's throat without ceremony. But despite drinking deeply, there was something lacking, a dryness to her blood that left them antsy.

Buffy grimaced. _'Is it just me, or is blood getting less tasty?'_

'_Not just you, pet. It's the girl; her blood's gone off from all the torturing. She gave up hours ago, no more adrenaline, no more fight for survival, no more passion. Just stale dread and despair. It's a flavor a lot of vamps like. Take Captain Forehead here; he cures 'em like this on purpose.'_

'_Blech, not me. I wanna fight something. You've lived this before, do we fight something soon? 'Cause if we don't I'm gonna just have to pick one with you, and the _Artiste_ over here might start to notice us looking extra schiz-y.'_

Spike laughed silently, _'Yeah, you're in luck, ducks. If I'm remembering right, we're about to do a whole lot of fightin'.'_

They turned to Angelus, who still looked thoughtful, and pissed, about his failed lesson. "I think I'm going to take off, yeah? My appetite's just been whet, and you know me, I'm a growing boy." William's grin was rapidly becoming Spike's. "That all right with dear old dad?"

The older vampire's face hardened, and for a moment he looked as if he would lose his temper, but he bit it back and responded tersely. "Of course, have yourself a gay old time, _sonny_."

"Don't wait up." They smirked, and were up and off down the tunnels and into the night.

'_You're going to like this part, pet. This is real, satisfying, evil.'_ Spike assured her as they approached the front door of a large, imposing stone building that took up a good portion of the block.

'_Oh yeah? So what is this real evil? And what the hell is this place?'_ Buffy asked skeptically.

_ 'Gentlemen's club. Right classy establishment.' _Spike grinned and rang the doorbell, straightening their posture and clasping their hands behind their back as they waited. Soon, a balding and impeccably groomed butler opened the door; his head tilted half back from looking so far down his nose at them.

"How may I be of assistance, sir?" he sneered.

"Oh, ah, you see, I do believe I'm supposed to be attending this evening's gathering. I've been enlisted to provide the, ah, entertainment." William's accent was back with a vengeance, so polite it was almost buttery.

"I see." The butler frowned. "I don't recall any scheduled entertainment. What did you say your name was, sir?"

"William."

"William who, sir? And what sort of 'entertainment' are you supposedly providing?" The butler rolled his eyes, his voice heavy with exasperation.

"Oh quite right, how silly of me. That's William _the Bloody_. And I'll be reciting some poetry." At 'the Bloody' their brow shifted and their words became a growl as they grabbed the servant by the collar and tore into his neck, letting him slump to the floor after one good pull. _'Ok, that was pretty fun, but poetry?'_ Buffy asked as they stepped over the crumpled pile of butler and strode into the spacious front hall._ 'You get out from underneath the 'rents' influence and get your big chance to prove you can be evil all by yourself, and you choose _poetry_?'_

'_First of all, have you _heard_ my poetry? And second of all, just wait and see, you'll have fun, I promise.'_

A wide, elegantly carpeted staircase lined the right side of the front hall, and off to the left was a tasteful antechamber. The hall ended in a closed door that presumably led to the kitchens and the rest of the utilitarian rooms reserved for the servants. They hurried up the stairs and swung open a set of double doors into a large room lined with mahogany bookshelves and filled with sumptuous furniture and stodgy looking gentlemen. Spike reached into the pocket of their coat and pulled out a long iron spike, twirling it around their finger as everyone in the room turned to stare at them with mixed expressions of surprise and outrage. "Fancy some poetry, gentlemen?" They turned to fix their gaze on a round-faced man with sandy hair and a long, curled mustache. "Of course, if you can't stomach it, there is always the alternative." They looked pointedly at the railroad spike, lips pursed in a small smile.

* * *

><p>Xander flicked through the channels, absently taking a pull from his beer, and settled deeper into the couch. Anya was still planning her bridal shower, or bachelorette party, or whatever it was with the other girls, and there was nothing good on TV to distract him from the great big barrel-full of "don't go there" that was soulless Buffy. Just as his uncooperative brain began to poke and prod that untouchable topic the door buzzer sounded. "Saved by the bell," he muttered to himself and crossed the living room to answer the door.<p>

Giles stood in the hallway in jeans and a gray sweater. His glasses hung limply in his hand, as though he'd taken them off for polishing, but gotten distracted by the opening of the door. Not even inside yet and he was already cleaning the glasses. Not a good sign. "G-man, come in. Can I get you something? There should be a few cold ones in the fridge."

"Ah, yes actually. I think I will have a 'cold one,' thank you."

"So, not that I don't love the spontaneous male bonding over brewed alcoholic beverages, but it's not exactly a regular occurrence. What's the what?" Xander asked, draining the last half inch of his beer and grabbing two more from the fridge.

"Well, there's really no proper way to frame this, but the girls have been rash. Extremely rash. It's reached the point where I believe it's necessary for the two of us to act on our own."

"Hold on there a minute, Giles. What? Act on our own? But we're the Scoobies! We're a team!" Xander exclaimed, his voice rising with surprise and dismay.

"Unfortunately the girls don't seem to share your sense of loyalty. They went behind our backs, Xander. Buffy and Spike are gone, off on some unforgivably risky, halfcocked quest to regain their souls, and Spike is in complete control of the situation. It's everything we feared."

"What? They went—but they couldn't have! Anya—"

"Organized it. Xander, I know it feels like a personal betrayal, and I don't like it any more than you do. But I do believe that no matter how flawed their judgment, they did it believing it was the right thing, the only thing, to do. Now, all that remains for us to do is take matters into our own hands. We cannot simply leave Buffy under Spike's power."

"No, we can't." Xander shook his head, his eyes clouding over with determination. "You're right, it's up to us now; we have to save Buffy. So, fill me in, what exactly is this quest thing, and how do we get Buffy out of it?"

"Well, it seems they're sharing a body…"


	14. Chapter 14

_Note: Going on vacation kinda made me go through my chapter buffer. I'm going to try really hard to write a lot, and fast, to get caught up, so hopefully I won't have to break update schedule. But if I'm a bit laggy in the next few weeks, that's why. Please read and review; as I get to the main, middle portion of this story I need extra encouragement, this is hard! Thank you! 3_

_Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing but my naughty naughty thoughts._

Chapter 14

"Let's start with you, shall we? You quite inspired me the other evening at that party." They began to recite, moving about the room and observing with a grin the different reactions warring on the club members' faces.

"There once was a man with a curly mustache,

Who couldn't help but come very fast,

He tried tonics and creams

Even pumping machines,

Still his wife prefers the tongue of a lass!" Spike's grin widened. '_That'll about do it_.'

"Mr. Pratt, how dare you!" burst out the round-faced man with the mustache.

_'Pratt? Your last name is Pratt? Isn't that what Giles calls people he doesn't like?'_

_ 'Shut it, Slayer. Vampires don't have last names.'_

"I won't abide by such perverse, disgusting insults!" declared the offended gentleman.

"You're right, how terribly inappropriate of me." They smiled. "A duel then, is it? All proper and by the book?"

"Of course! I, at least, am a gentleman, and I will behave like one!" He walked over to a dark chest near the fireplace where there was a clear space of about fifteen square feet and pulled out two rapiers, tossing one over to them. They caught it in their right hand. _'Aren't we left handed? I feel left handed.'_

_ 'Yeah, pet, but we're not playing by the rules.'_ They twirled the spike in their left hand.

The sandy haired man was still explaining the rules and conventions of the duel and Spike and Buffy felt their chest tightening with impatience. "What happens if I break a rule?"

He blustered. "Why, we stand before our peers, you would be held accountable!"

"Right," their eyes danced, "best news I've heard all day. Let's go then."

The man's confidence faltered before the shy poet's strange new attitude, but he nodded. "To first blood." And he fell into fencing stance, right arm extended and right leg bent before him, left arm curved behind his head.

They advanced quickly, their form deliberately sloppy, and as their opponent lunged they danced to the side instead of parrying. Expecting resistance, he was caught off balance, and came crashing down when they hooked their foot behind his ankle and yanked. "First blood, eh?" Their demon roared forth and they tore their fangs into the man's neck. God but this was sweet, rich with adrenaline, fear, and anger. As the beating of his heart began to fade away they pulled back, raised their left hand, and plunged the spike through the dying man's eye socket, nailing him to the floor.

They rose to their feet wiping the blood from their lips and taking in the aghast faces of their 'peers.' "Well, what're you waitin' for? I broke the rules, didn't I? An honorable man is dead at the hands of an ungodly beast! Take your righteous vengeance!" Their body sang with anticipation. "I'll even give you the advantage!" Excitement pumped through them as they broke a wooden chair over their knee, tossing the jagged legs and dowels to the shocked and furious gentlemen before them. "Go on! Have at it! Just a stake through the heart to rid God's clean earth of the big, bad, demon!" A wild grin split their face in two as one of the men, an over six-foot tall bear of a man in a finely tailored suit, bent down to take one of the make shift stakes.

"Come on, boys! There's a whole roomful of us, and just one of him. It'll be easy to do our civic duty and put the dead back in the ground!" His words broke the other men in the room from their shocked stillness. Suddenly everyone remembered they were angry, very angry. They clambered forward, some grabbing the stakes littering the floor, others smashing furniture and making their own. The vampire roared exultantly and flew into combat as they lunged at him from three sides.

'_This is it! Back against the wall, nothing but fist and fang between you and a dusty end to your eternal unlife! Bloody Brilliant!'_

'_Spike, you're crazy! It's thirty to one!'_

He just whooped, ducking away from an oncoming stake and knocking its wielder across the room with a super-strength punch.

'_I love it!'_ Buffy finished, and then she was crowing along with him, throwing herself into the fight and forgetting everything but the air rushing past their ears, the smack and shock of flesh colliding with flesh as they whirled and dodged and kicked.

Some time later, it was impossible to say how much, when the humans were flagging, someone shouted. "Fire! I heard vampires can be killed with fire!" And then men were rushing to the huge hearth, kicking coals everywhere and lighting the brooms from the fire tending bin. The twenty or so humans still standing advanced, closing them in with makeshift torches and backing them into the wall.

'_That's our cue, pet!'_ Spike smashed their elbow backwards, shattering the window behind them, and turned, leaping out into the pre-dawn blackness. They landed in a crouch on the cobbled street below and were up and laughing in a figurative heartbeat, racing down back alleys and winding paths 'til they stumbled into a small graveyard.

'_Ok, you win this one. That _was_ fun!'_

'_Told you you'd like it!' _Spike grinned. _'I make my own fun! Now, let's see, I think this was the crypt I broke into to spend the day.'_ He wrapped their hands around the bars of the wrought iron gate at the mouth of the crypt and yanked, easily breaking the rusted chain. _'Angelus is going to be royally pissed!'_

'_I hope so! He looks hilarious when he's mad; his mouth turns into this thin little line!'_ They laughed out loud together and collapsed onto the floor of the crypt, slipping into the sleep of the dead with a smile on their face.

000

When he woke up heavy California sun weighed on his eyelids. He instinctively flailed to shield himself with his duster and immediately noticed two things. First, instead of worn black leather he was pulling a fluffy pink comforter over his head, and second, he wasn't even smoking, much less bursting into flames. …the hell? he thought, then felt Buffy' s consciousness stir awake.

She reached their arms out, stretching luxuriously, then stopped and patted at their hair, chest, and groin, finding everything much softer and more familiar than the last time she'd woken up sharing a body with Spike.

"Boobs! I have boobs again!" she exclaimed, speaking aloud in her excitement.

Spike laughed and gave their hands a little squeeze, cupping one of said boobs as well as their pussy. A jolt of pleasure curled through them and Spike gasped. _'Woah. You always this sensitive, Slayer?'_

Buffy smirked, _'no, usually more so, when I get in the mood.'_

Wow. He'd known women liked it when he pushed that button, but this was _way_ beyond what he'd imagined. He moved their fingers in an experimental circle and moaned at the liquid pleasure that began to radiate from his touch. _'Bloody hell, pet, how is it that you're not dashing off to the loo every half hour to play with this thing?'_

Buffy's amusement tickled over him, and instead of answering she took control of their hands, sliding two practiced fingers over their clit and giving it a little pinch as she tweaked and pulled their nipple with their free hand. Spike groaned, twisting their legs and curling their toes helplessly as need pooled in their center. _'Why don't _you_ play with it a little? I've just given you a lesson.'_

Spike didn't need to be asked twice, and began to flick their fingers back and forth over the small bundle of nerves, gasping as it began to swell and harden under his touch. _'Christ, Buffy, it's like all the sensation from my whole cock was condensed into this one tiny point.'_

'_I know,' _she answered, half smirking, half moaning, _'check this out.'_ She moved the hand that had been absently kneading their breast down their stomach, finding a soft spot of flesh just above their pubic bone and pressed down, fingering their g-spot from the outside. The hungry ache that had been spreading out from their center immediately intensified with a jolt, and Spike groaned, suddenly needing to have something inside him, filling him.

'_Ooh, you like that, huh? You little slut, Spike, you want to be fucked, don't you?'_ Buffy's words caressed him wickedly, full of easy power, and she pressed their hand down again, sending another bolt of want through their pussy.

'_Fuck, Slayer, when did you learn my lines so well?'_ he sent back, panting.

'_Possibly around the time I, how did you put it, 'experienced your prick from the inside and felt every spasm and spurt?'_ She chuckled, '_you haven't answered my question.'_ She shoved herself to the front of their mind and wrenched control of their body from him, slowing his feverish assault on their clit to an agonizingly slow caress.

'_Nnngh'_ Spike tried to arch up into Buffy's touch, seeking more friction, but she remained stubbornly in possession of their movement. She dipped their fingers down to tease around their slick opening, spreading the moisture over their folds without actually entering, and moaned along with him. _'Now, tell me what you want, Spike.'_

When he answered, it wasn't words so much as a wave of need accompanied by a vivid flash of memory: the two of them, slammed up against a crumbling wall in the corpse of someone's living room, the house crashing down around them in a symphony of destructive catharsis as he surged within her, drowning in her. _'Gotta feel what you felt. When I was pushin' up inside,'_ he managed.

'_Afraid we don't have enough people for that, but I got the next best thing. Well, the next best thing for a fifteen-year-old too embarrassed to walk into a sex shop, anyway.'_ She rolled over and reached under the bed, pulling out an old shoebox. Inside was a cheap purple hair brush with a long, decoratively curved handle. _'I swear, the company had to've designed this with a dual purpose in mind.'_

Buffy took hold of the brush by the bristled end and slipped the curved handle between their thighs to tease open their wet folds. Spike did his best to raise their hips, angling for more contact, '_Buffy, please. Need to feel it.'_ Their inner muscles clenched in anticipation. She smiled. _'I'm kinda loving how much you want this. Mr. Macho, William the Bloody begging a girl to fill him up.'_ Her sly satisfaction and arousal washed over him. _'Well, don't ever say I never did anything for you.'_ With that she pushed the make-shift plastic phallus past their slick entrance. Spike let out a noise halfway between a moan and a gasp. This version of Buffy's body had never done anything more risqué than a few heavy make-out sessions, so even the relatively small length of plastic stretched their tight channel, sending a tremor of rippling warmth and need from their core to their extremities. Buffy began to slide the warming handle in and out, pushing harder with each thrust, opening new depths.

No longer holding rigid control over their body, she concentrated on steadily fucking them, each stroke dragging the curve of the brush handle along their muscled walls, while Spike lifted their pelvis to meet her and returned to frantically sliding their fingers over their clit.

'_Fuck, Buffy, feels so good.'_

'_You like that, Spike? Like getting fucked?'_

Bloody hell, the bite to her words liquefied something in his belly and sent his borrowed heart shivering faster. Each pulse against that sweet, spongy spot inside had him begging, needing, to tumble over the edge and give way to free fall, 'cause somehow he knew he'd fly. 'Cause something about having her this far in him, in his mind and opening up this body, made it ok to let go. Buffy gave the handle a little twist, and then Spike really was falling, heels digging into the mattress as he seized, wracked with wave after wave of cascading pleasure. And the best part? She was right there with him, he could feel her mind shuddering along with his as they came.

'_Didn't think it was possible to appreciate your hot little body any more that I already did,' _Spike panted.

'_Heh, well proving you wrong is kind of what I do, right?'_

Before he could answer, a knock sounded at the door and it creaked open, Joyce Summers' head peaking in through the crack. "Buffy, sweetie, did you sleep through your alarm again? You have to be at school in half an hour!"


	15. Chapter 15

_Note: Ok, so when I was writing this chapter I wanted to include dialogue from the movie, which I haven't watched in ages, so I found a copy of the script. Unfortunately, I realized today that the scene I borrowed dialogue from was cut. Go figure. The little bit about gymnastics was taken from that uncut script. _

_Also, I must ask your help! Now that I've hit the middle of the story, and I've been working on it basically non-stop for months, I'm getting to a bit of a rut. I have the future events of the story mapped out, but I'm feeling my writing going flat. Any advice, suggestions, constructive criticism, etc. about style, narrative perspective, emotional tension and such would be sooo much appreciated! After next week I'm going to go on a month-long hiatus to get this stuff sorted out, I will, however, return to the story. I've put waaay to much work into it to abandon it now. Sincerely though, your comments will really help me get back on track, I've been in my own head too long! So yes, please help!_

_Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing of _Buffy_ but my twisted and intricate fantasies. Don't sue._

Chapter 15

They hurried off to school after brushing teeth and hair (with a _different_ hairbrush), and grabbing a granola bar for the road. In a rare moment of tact Spike didn't mention how quickly Buffy rushed them away from her mother, how she was careful to look at her as little as possible. He didn't particularly want to dwell on Joyce's memory either; it was too much of a bleedin' shame.

They arrived during homeroom and sat down with a small group of chatty girls dressed in different arrangements of tight jeans, pastel sweaters, and patterned vests. After greeting Buffy and finishing up a sordid piece of gossip involving a classmate's mother and her young, exotic gardener, one of the girls turned to them after the appreciative giggles had died down. "So, Buffy, like what was up with your ninja-slice-and-dice performance at the diner the other night?"

"Nothing, they were being jerks so took them down a notch. No big, scathing wit is just part of the Buffy package."

"But it wasn't wit, you literally slashed out, like not with words. Come on, that was so weird." The pretty black girl said, pulling a face.

"What, it's not weird; I just cut the stupid hot dog in half." They both scowled as the group of girls began to exclaim over just how weird it really was, and the first girl who had spoken (Nicole, Buffy's memory supplied) launched into a story about Buffy flying across the room in eighth grade gymnastics.

"…well that's the thing. She landed on her feet. Didn't even sprain a toe. And I go up to her and she turns and looks at me and she's like this," Nicole's face turned deadly serious and she narrowed her eyes to look especially intense, "like she's gonna kill me."

"I was just scared is all," responded fifteen-year-old Buffy, annoyed and a little desperate to leave the conversation behind. Spike glared at Nicole through Buffy's green eyes. _'These airheaded bints were your friends?'_ he asked incredulously.

_'Yeah, well, you know how it is; fitting in is important when you're fifteen.'_

And he did know; he felt the discomfort knotting in their stomach as Nicole painted her picture of Buffy the Ape Woman, the freak. It was the same icy grip of alienation that had closed around his chest when that ass Bigsby and his hens had snatched his clumsy, unfinished verse to read aloud to the whole bloody party. Snobs and hypocrites, the lot of them.

Buffy caught the visual and chuckled silently. _'So _that_ was what you're evening of poetry, mayhem, and bloodshed was about! No wonder it was so satisfying! I wish I'd gone back to give these bimbos a similar super-powered ass kicking. But nooo, I had to be miss goody-goody and use my Slayer powers to save their ungrateful hides and get myself kicked out of school in the process.'_ She sulked.

Spike smiled, _'While they definitely deserve it, I'm glad you didn't. Don't go spreading it around, but I love that you're so good, even if it does make you a bit of a tight-ass.'_

_ 'Hey! Watch it! Was good, was! Past tense!' _Buffy exclaimed, indignant.

Spike sighed and rolled their eyes. _'Whatever you say, sweetheart.'_

They went through the rest of the day at Hemery High School, and the initial meeting and graveyard visit with Merrick mostly on autopilot, letting Buffy's fifteen-year-old self run through her lines. It wasn't until the action started that they really began paying attention again. After that brief and unsatisfying maiden slay their adrenaline couldn´t seem to stop flowing. Despite forcing themselves to look properly chastened by the experience, walk home, and slip upstairs to wash the blood out of their clothes, they couldn't stop moving. And the growing buzz of excitement and restless energy came as much from fifteen year old Buffy as it did from the older vampire and Slayer. _'Oo, naughty even then, were you, Slayer?'_ came Spike's mental purr.

Buffy twitched their lips up into a smirk and replied with a snippet of memory. Spike sitting at a table by the stairs in the Bronze, his voice lowered to a seductive whisper, '_what can I say, I've always been bad.'_

Spike laughed and Buffy slipped back into her own voice, _'except I think that in this case it might be a bit truer for me than for you, Poetry Boy,' _she teased.

'_Hey! I was too bad! I was just subtle about it! Biding my time!'_

'_Spike, I don't think it's even grammatically correct to put 'subtle' and you in the same sentence. Not unless you throw a 'not at all' in there somewhere.'_

'_Alright, you caught me. I'm a man of action, I follow my blood. And speaking of which, _please_ tell me this evening includes more violence than that dusty little appetizer back with Merrick.'_ Spike prodded hopefully.

'_Oh don't worry. I wasn't _that_ much of a goody two shoes. Come on.'_ They changed into a clean pair of leggings, pulled the Hemery varsity jacket back on and crept out of the house. The stake felt right wedged into their waistband, shifting slightly back and forth with each step as they made their way down the street. They walked purposefully, but without any real direction, passing by several cemeteries, tensed to the prickle at the nape of their neck and the slight heaviness in the pit of their stomach that had manifested with the two vamps from earlier.

Moving past graveyard number three, they stopped, knees loosening and center of gravity dropping instinctively. A chuckle rang out from the shadows off to their left.

"Look boys, no one's told the poor thing that LA graveyards at night are no place for helpless young girls." A skeevy looking vampire with a week of stubble and ripped jeans stepped out into the pool of light cast by the nearest street lamp. "You never know what kind of low life you'll run into." Four others with equally questionable hygiene followed close behind, snickering appreciatively.

Young Buffy was in her element. She gave her best Oscar performance of frozen terror for about thirty seconds, then rolled her eyes melodramatically. "I'll give you girl, and young's pretty accurate. It's helpless I'm having some problems with." She flew into movement and her older passengers happily fell into motion with her, reveling in the thrill and ease of each whirl and kick.

Their heel whipped around, crashing into the leaders face. "Oh, and by the way, I know exactly what kind of low life you are," his forehead crunched into vamp mode at the blow, "you're the no-life kind."

"You're the Slayer!" he growled, eyes wide with disbelief. He lunged at them unsuccessfully and they flipped him, landing him in a heap with one of his minions.

"That's what they tell me," Buffy replied casually. "If you ask me I'm just you're average SoCal girl with extraordinarily good taste in shoes, but I'm starting to think that maybe this whole 'Chosen One' thing has potential." They spun as the three vamps still on their feet began to close in, and hit one with a powerful sideways kick, simultaneously slamming their stake into another's chest. "I mean, my friends might suspect I'm a freak, but I'm just cleaning up the _real_ scum. Like, you guys do know there are other stores that aren't Goodwill, right?"

Spike laughed silently, _'You know, you're inane quips are a lot more fun and a lot less infuriating on the giving rather than the receiving end.'_

'_You've been known to get pretty quippy yourself, Limerick Boy.'_

'_You knew that was a limerick! I'm impressed, Slayer!'_

'_I did pay attention in _some_ of English class.'_

'_I bet you only remembered because it's one type of poem that's almost always naughty.' _Spike smirked, _'in point of fact, I think little Miss Priss Buffy is feeling a wee bit naughty right now.'_

And she was. They could both feel it. Fifteen year old Buffy was letting loose and really experiencing her own power for the first time. For tonight she could forget about it all. The cliques, the relentless social negotiation, the desperate avoidance of judgment that was high school, none of it meant a thing. She was moving; she was sweating; she was fighting. And she was damn good at it. Warmth pooled between their thighs as they fought the remaining vampires, increasing as the action intensified. They raised a leg to deliver a ribcage shattering kick and Buffy wondered fleetingly if the vamp could sense the heat radiating from their center.

'_Maybe not the heat, but he can definitely smell us. I can always smell you when we fight.'_ Spike answered.

'_Really?'_ Buffy asked incredulously. _'Then why the hell did it take us nearly five years to fuck?'_

'_I might be thick, pet, but I'm not daft enough to confuse a willing body with real, mental consent. If I'd tried anything earlier you'd've had my head. And I'm rather fond of it where it is, thanks.'_

'_Me too,'_ Buffy purred, deliberately misinterpreting his choice of the word 'head.' _'But I'm even more fond of it when it's somewhere else…'_

'_Oh, __I bet you are__.'_ An extra wave of arousal washed over Buffy from Spike's consciousness.

The rest of the fight was delicious torture. They were automatically turned on because of young Buffy's excitement, and on top of that they kept giving each other sensual little nudges and trading erotic images and clips of memory. By the time they'd dusted the last vampire they were panting with exertion and need.

'_Come on. Back home. We _need_ to do something about this._

'_Mmm, something like this?'_ Spike's words licked deep into her consciousness, accompanied by an intensely sensory flash of skin sliding over skin, heated flesh parting with a sharp ache, the taste of sweat.

Buffy groaned, _'Oh, exactly like that, I hope._' She reached down, briefly caressing between their legs before starting to run, desire tingling from their core out to their nipples and extremities. They were back at Buffy's house and slipping between the sheets of her bed in five minutes flat. The trip out had taken over fifteen. This time there was no teasing, no play for control. They were both beyond the point where they could do anything other than immediately and completely seek each other's pleasure.

Moving together they began to stroke their clit, sending a radiating heat rolling over them. But it wasn't enough; despite their intense and continued mental arousal, their body was falling into languor. Buffy let out a grunt of frustration.

'_Don't worry about it, pet,'_ Spike breathed, _'fifteen year old you might be up past her bedtime, but you an' me are still going strong.'_

'_But I need to _feel_ something,'_ Buffy protested.

'_I'm right here, love. Focus on my voice; can't you feel me?'_

And she realized he was right, she could. He was right there, not even next to her because that implied a greater degree of separation. They were within each other, Spike-ness and Buffy-ness moving and caressing, tasting one another. Formless, but oh-so-physical pleasure.

'_Fuck, Buffy, so close.'_ And it was impossible to misunderstand him. He wasn't close to orgasm; they both wanted to play way more before it was over. He meant literal closeness. In their passion they'd slid completely into sync. Now it was like every piece of memory and fantasy they shared went from pale, 2D imitation to larger-than-life 3D experience. Their two minds magnified and developed each flash of image and sensation until it was so real they lost track of the room around them and the bed beneath their back.

"Feel that, pet? Can't you feel my cock filling you up, prying you wide open, my mouth drinking down the taste of your skin and sweat?" Spike panted near her ear, his breath almost warm with borrowed heat.

"Oh god, yes!" And then she really could, because they were two again, and writhing and surging into each other desperately. Buffy's eyes snapped open, taking in her lover's face: coated in a sheen of sweat, lips parted, blue gaze vulnerable and intense and staring right back into her.

"Spike…?" she asked, voicing a question she couldn't even formulate.

"Right here, love. Oh god, Buffy, 'm right her." And then her tongue was delving into the cave of his mouth, sweeping behind his teeth, and he was grabbing hold of her hips and thrusting deeper into her, hitting spots she didn't know she had.

"W-where are we?" Buffy managed to gasp, glancing briefly around before squeezing her eyes shit again and concentrating on the delicious friction of Spike pushing and pulling every inch of her tight inner walls. They were surrounded by hot water and steam, everything bathed in low candlelight, and Buffy sat on Spike's lap, her legs wrapped around his waist as she bounced on his cock.

"Dream, maybe. Taken from our fantasizing. Don't care, just want you." He bent his head down to capture her nipple between his lips, worrying it with his tongue and teeth as he moved inside her.

"Fuck, Spike, feels so good!" Her clit rubbed against his stomach each time she descended on him and she felt her pleasure go watery as it built towards orgasm.

"Buffy, oh Buffy…" Spike groaned, burning up with her heat and the warm, needy ache sparking through him from where her smooth walls clamped around his prick. He could feel her surrounding him, so much Buffy. She might be missing her soul, but he was beginning to realize that everything left still came from her, was still a part of her, just without that one obvious piece.

He began to move faster within her, his rhythm becoming frantic and uneven as they both got closer and closer to release. And then something slipped, gave them that extra little push, and they both exploded together. Pleasure curled over them like hard fingers clenching around their insides, pulsing like waves crashing down, over and over until they were both shuddering, weak, and spent, and satisfied. Buffy slumped, resting her head on Spike's shoulder, his cock slowly softening inside her. His arms tightened slightly around her waist. "Sleep now," she said, her voice breathy and drowsy.

"Mmm." His head drooped to the side, coming to rest on top of hers.


	16. Chapter 16

_Note: Ok, several things. First, sorry for the late post! My laptop died and I couldn't get all the data from my old hard drive transferred until today! Second, I'm going to post the complete, non-broken-up version of Spike's poem separately, I recommend you read it there to get the final, polished effect! I've kept it choppy here to try to show Spike's writing process. Third, unfortunately this will be my last update for a month, while I go on hiatus to basically wrestle my muse back into cooperation. I do this so I don't have to publish complete tripe, because you guys deserve better. Fourth, please read and review! And give me creative/stylistic suggestions!_

_Disclaimer: as usual, I own nothing of Buffy._

Chapter 16

_´When are we today, Spike?'_ Buffy asked in sing-song when they opened their eyes. The crepuscular half-light cast long blue shadows across the high cement ceiling, and she could feel a cool, lithe form stretched out beside them, one leg thrown over their hip, so today must be Spike-memory day. He looked around, taking in the wide open room, and foggy floor-to-ceiling grid windows. He smiled, _'New year's eve, 1959, Chicago, Illinois. Good night, the beginning of the sixties and weren't they fun!"_

_ 'So why're we here? Each memory so far has been this life changing, or important moment, right? So what happens tonight?"_

Spike shrugged, and Drusilla whimpered and rolled over beside them, rising moonlight falling across her face, painting her cheek oh-so-white and her lashes inky black. _'Dunno, was a nice evening is all.'_ He didn't particularly want to discuss why this night was special to him, too poncy. And with Buffy being the Evil Police, she'd definitely give him hell for it._ 'Who knows, my guess is that this whole mystical process is going to be a bit more cryptic than just the instant replay version of our lives. Come on then, we might as well enjoy the local atmosphere while we can, who knows what nasty memory they'll throw us into next."_ They left Dru sleeping and made their way out into the brittle winter night, the trace heat of the bars and the people pulling at them, whispering to come in out of the cold, warm themselves up with a drink. And a drink sounded perfect, a drink, a spot of violence, a glimpse of another time. Absolutely perfect. They sauntered off, following little trails of fading warmth to their loud and lively source.

* * *

><p>And then Spike was gone. But no, not quite gone, melted into that other Spike, the one they'd been swaggering around in, smoking and savoring <em>everything<em> in. She hadn't known how good whiskey could be until she'd been in Spike tasting it. She hadn't know how loud still blood could sing until she'd provoked that boozy bouncer, felt his fist split their lip, and felt Spike's laugh bubble up from their chest before tearing the _poor sod_ to shreds. And the whole time her Spike, no, no possessives, the 2002 Spike, was there with her, making by turns dry, infuriatingly insightful, annoying and witty commentary about anything and everything.

And now they were sitting high on some fire escape in that strange city quiet that's not really silence but feels lonely anyway. But good lonely, all blues and purples and streetlights far off below. And he'd just shut up, without her noticing right away, and fallen into that younger Spike, the two swelling together until Buffy was surrounded, no longer floating along on top and sampling thrills and sensation, but wrapped up tight in it all.

And there were so many words. But even more than words, it was _wanting_ for words, a kind of reach for words like a snake's tongue tasting the air. The fingers of his left hand curled around a chewed up pen, tapping the notebook propped on his knee, his head thrown back, other leg carelessly extended and dangling off the edge. His thoughts swirled around her, drowning her out and taking up every free space, locking her in some foreign present tense.

_She is blood on my lips_, _eating my sticky birth, _

(need something that's more _now, _more immediate)

_Gave me fighting, dead heart beating violence feeding,_ (keep it fast, make it taste right)

_White fingers pulling me through decades, past fire bombs and air raids,_

_Sipping history from the necks of humanity's victims,_

_Don't have to do a thing, just drink it in,_

_Sin's so _(make it perfect, gotta be-) _smooth going down,_

_Alive 'cause she put me to ground,_

_Baptism of wet earth _

_Freeing me from Victoria's stays _(fucking wankers and prideful bitches)

_Of proud frigidity, false piety _

_Moonbeams replacing warm rays _(god that's trite, strike it)

_Victoria's stays_

_made me stay in the lines, play kind, day light _(gotta rhyme, sight, fight, tight, _right_)

_raised me right_

_right useless ponce. _('til her) he paused, worrying the pen absently between his teeth.

(whole last bit's rot. Fix it)

_Freeing me from Victoria's stays,_

_We laid waste to crinoline and lace,_

_Just to taste _(taste what? Gotta mean life, death, blood, so much above everything else) _greatness, _

_No restraint, or faintness of heart, _

_With her I'm all bad, yeah,_

_Creature of the night and all that jazz,_

_As black as she wants me to be_

'_cause it's so easy to kill, all the people lined up before church steeples on Sunday morning, _(no, take out morning)

_heads aching, full from lust making and trust breaking, hypocrisy, practicing what I preach, just to shriek and plead innocence before I drink_ (pause here)

_her name is deliverance, _

_and she speaks in broken verse, and I think she sinks_

_her teeth into me every time I forget not to breathe,_

_and she sees me oh-so-twisted,_

_and really, did I come back all dead?_

_Or did something stick with me?_

And with that last impossible question the beat fell into place; and instead of reaching out and searching more, they curled back into the words they had, reading from the beginning. _She is the blood on my lips, eating my sticky birth._ The syllables rose and fell like waves around them, building. _Gave me fighting dead heart beating violence feeding—_yes, they were right, for the first time in nearly a hundred years of forced rhymes and trite verse, the words were right. They could taste it on each letter, running their tongue over the sounds like the swells and dips of her body. Cool, smooth; humming and still all at once. _White fingers pulling me through decades…_

They recited it over and over again, whispering it under their breath, until the words lost their meaning and became just an incantation in some unfathomable, archaic language. All rhythm and gesture swimming around their brain until the echo of their own words wasn't enough anymore.

They climbed through the window from the fire escape to the wide open room they'd woken up in. Drusilla still sprawled luxuriously; limbs spread over the grungy mattress they'd tossed a clean sheet over, looking like someone carved her out of bone. She'd slept all day and all night, like she sometimes did, languor overtaking her body and her mind twisting in on itself, lost in the intricate, macabre dreams that made her so heartbreakingly beautiful.

Three minds still hopelessly intertwined, they knelt and crawled onto the mattress beside their lover, running their hands reverentially along her shoulder, down over the dip of her waist, the small swell of her hip. Dru's eye's fluttered half open, dark blue irises following their movements beneath heavy lids. Their lips found hers, pulling her into a slow, deep kiss that woke the murmur of words in their brain once more. _She is blood on my lips, eating my sticky birth... My Dru…_

They fell upon her, overwhelmed by the living memory of Spike's awed love. Drusilla arched as their mouth moved over her flesh hungrily, each kiss desperately trying to drink her in, feel all of her, all at once. Oh fuck, how they needed her then, with those words going round and round in their head, beating a tattoo on the inside of their skull, until the only thing they could do was plunge into her like a drowning man gasping for air. And Dru swallowed them, everything shattering instantly into ten thousand little shards of blissful wordlessness.

* * *

><p>She opened her eyes to the bleached teeth of Restfield's tombs stretched out before her. Spike lounged against the wall of a crypt off to her right.<p>

"Ok, really, this is getting too fucking weird. What the hell, Spike? I'm on board for the sex and random acts of violence and all that good stuff, but I did not sign up to be drowned in you having a poetic moment! Actually, come to think of it, I didn't sign up for any of this, you kidnapped me! I'm the kidnap-ee in this situation! So what gives?"

"Hey, calm the bloody hell down, would you? I just bought the tickets; I didn't set the itinerary, Slayer."

"Still your fault, Soul Boy."

"Oi! Don't call me that!"

"Oh, I don't know, seems pretty appropriate to me, Mr. Let's-have-a-tender-moment-writing-sonnets-and-making-sweet-sweet-love-in-the-middle-of-our-reign-of-terror!"

"That wasn't a sonnet, you daft bint! And I'd have thought it'd take a bit more than a few lines of poetry to phase your evil highness!"

"I'm not 'phased,' you stupid vampire! It was just gross, ok? I've got like, ooshy gooshy Spike feelings all over me! It's worse than demon guts!" She shuddered.

The vampire scowled at her. "You know what, Slayer? You're not fooling anyone. You think you can feel me? Trying as hard as you are to block me out, ignoring everything that doesn't fit in your cold, hard idea of what 'evil' is? Now how much do you think I feel you? Being the kind of bloke I am, wide open?"

Buffy crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

"I feel everything. I know where you live, Slayer, by now I've _really _tasted it, all those hidden corners and crannies. And I know why you're so thrown by that little experience on the fire escape. Because not all that exultation at making a little piece of beautiful was mine! Not all that love was mine!" He was right in her face now, his voice harsh with emotion.

She stood her ground, body tensed to snapping with fury. "I don't know what the _fuck_ you're talking about, Spike. _You_ might get off on the soft stuff, but not me."

"Bollocks! You're scared to death, Slayer. Because after all this, even after losing your sodding _soul_, you ended exactly the same as before: terrified of what you feel! All torn up over shoulds and shouln'ts! Step outside the bloody box for a change!"

"That's it, I've fucking had it! I want you out of my head!"

"Sorry pet, it's a bit late for that, and we're in my head, anyway." The words had barely left his lips when Buffy's fist crashed into his nose, sending him reeling.

"I _really_ don't like you." And she stomped off into the night to await the next memory with as much privacy as their unconventional living situation allowed.


End file.
